


Searching for After

by SylvesterM



Category: Smosh
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, BAMF Courtney Miller, BAMF Shayne Topp, Blood and Injury, Eventual Romance, F/M, Family Loss, Graphic Description, Guns, Hurt/Comfort, Mild Sexual Content, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, Suicide, The Punisher AU, Violence, no beta we die like men, shourtney
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-09-11
Packaged: 2021-02-23 08:08:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 42
Words: 354,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23974966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SylvesterM/pseuds/SylvesterM
Summary: Courtney used to think Death was a skeleton that wore black robes and carried a scythe. Today, she learned Death wore a denim jacket, had dirty blonde hair, stormy blue eyes, and carried a shotgun.And today, Death was coming.Or,Courtney Miller's life as a reporter is turned upside down when she crosses paths with a mysterious blonde haired, blue eyed gunman on a bloody mission of justice. Digging into the shooter's identity unearths far more truth and danger than she ever expected.That Punisher AU that absolutely nobody ever asked for. A Shourtney slowburn action-romance rife with tragedy, mystery, legal drama, and a nice serving of bullets.
Relationships: Courtney Miller/Shayne Topp
Comments: 118
Kudos: 123





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Well, here it is. The Punisher AU that absolutely nobody asked for! I wanna get some stuff out of the way before you begin here, and drop some info that will help set the scene.
> 
> Smosh is an online news outlet like any other, except that they do lots of controversial satire in the form of skits, alongside more regular skits. Shayne never joined Smosh. He followed in his paternal side's footsteps and enlisted once he was of age. Ian and Anthony are the heads of Smosh. Courtney works with them as a journalist and an actor. Keith and Noah are lawyers with their own small firm. Olivia works with them part time as their paralegal, while she works on her law degree.
> 
> If you've seen Daredevil S2 onwards, and The Punisher on Netflix, then you'll recognize that this follows along that plot for the most part, with some divergences and changes of my own design. Things can get graphic at certain points, so be warned.
> 
> This is still a Shourtney story, but it is going to be one hell of a slow burn, since Shayne is in an incomprehensible amount of pain and is reeling from so much loss. If you've seen how Karen Page and Frank Castle act, then you'll see that's the sort of dynamic I'm trying to capture.
> 
> I'm used to living room, cozy couch romances, and stories with swords and sorcery, so this type of thing is a little out of my comfort zone, but I'm eager to see how this goes. I've already gotten a few chapters written, and the whole story mapped out. I figured I'd put the prologue chapter out to set the stage and gauge interest in this very unconventional Smosh story. But that's enough talk from me. Enjoy.

The pain came over Courtney in a hot flash across her face. The force of the blow sent her stumbling over her coffee table and onto the hard ground. But it was not in vain. She felt the cool, heavy steel in her palm. There was a time in her life she would recoil at the prospect of holding an actual gun. That was long ago.

She raised the weapon in the silhouette’s direction. He staggered a little where he stood, an arm outstretched to steady himself. His hand brushed against hung picture frames, which were sent clattering to the ground. He wiped at his mouth once, then looked at his hand. There was a moment of recognition – almost surprise – when he realized the blood was his own. His predatory gaze returned to her.

“You shouldn’t have hit me, Courtney.”

He took a deliberate step forward.

“When I’m done with you,” He let out a low chuckle, “Your friends at work are next.”

Courtney’s heart pounded in her ears. She trained the gun at him with more deliberation. She didn’t know the first thing about firing the weapon in her shaking hands. There must be some kind of safety. In the darkness of her apartment, her eyes flitted away from her attacker and towards the weapon.

“Put the gun down, Courtney.”

She found a tiny lever near the grip. Surely this was it.

His heavy footfalls drew closer.

All she had was movie-knowledge. Her father was a firefighter, not a cop. Guns weren’t commonplace back home.

Courtney grabbed the slide and tugged – too softly – and then again, sharper. The slide pushed back in place, chambering a single bullet.

“You shouldn’t have done that, Courtney.”

He took another step forward. He was close – no more than four feet away. She couldn’t miss. She couldn’t.

Could she?

“I’ll start with Ian and Anthony,” Another breathy laugh, “They’ll finally get what’s coming to them.”

A steely determination settled into her bones. Her aim steadied, and suddenly the foreign metallic weight in her hands felt like it belonged there.

There was a glint in the darkness – of sharp metal reflecting the dim moonlight. He began to take another step forward, knife poising to strike.

“Give me the gun, Courtney. I know you won’t sh-”

**BANG!**

The shock in his eyes pierced through the darkness of her crummy apartment. He looked down at the crimson that was beginning to seep through the fabric of his clothes. He dropped the knife to press a hand to his bleeding chest. There was a clumsy step backwards, and his head swiveled in the direction of her front door. Out into the night. Out into New York. Out where he could hurt her friends.

She pulled the trigger again.

**BANG!**

Her ears were ringing. His bloody hand drew a gruesome trail on her wall as he tried to steady himself. He was still standing.

She pulled the trigger again. And again. And again. And again. And again.

She only stopped when the magazine ran dry.

***

Courtney awoke with a start and a gasp. Her bleary eyes scanned the room, even as her hands were furiously tugging her nightstand drawer open. A few long moments passed by the time she flicked her .380’s safety back on. She was home. She was safe.

It was always the same damn dream of that same damn night. Her stupid brain couldn’t at least throw a different dream her way. It was always the same old shit.

Courtney let the minutes tick by as her labored breathing steadied, and her panicked heartbeat calmed down. Once the fight-or-flight adrenaline had subsided, she eased herself off of her bed to begin her morning routine. Courtney was drying her hair after her shower by the time her alarm went off. She rolled her eyes as she shut the obnoxious blaring off. She wasn’t sure why she still bothered with it. Courtney could count on one hand the times her alarm had woken her, and her nightmares or skewed body clock hadn’t.

Courtney poured her coffee into a thermos because traffic was ass at this hour, and she had places to be. She could grab a bagel or something at work, anyway. Courtney grabbed her keys and stepped past the dark patch of flooring to reach her front door. She drew the gun in her bag and performed a press check, pulling the slide back a scant half inch. One in the chamber. Safety on. After re-aligning a framed picture on the wall that always seemed to be skewed one way, she exited her apartment.

In her car, with a red traffic light glaring down on her, she glanced at her phone intermittently. There was a recent uptick in violent gang on gang crime, and she had a feeling Ian and Anthony were on the fence over this one. Ian was always urging her and the rest of the team to find the hottest news. Anthony was more cautious and preferred to err on the side of safety and considerably less crime. She pulled over and parked by the large office building that housed the Smosh studio.

Smosh was… unique. There were plenty of online news outlets. They all had their own sort of twist or spin that put them on the radar and kept them relevant. Smosh typically didn’t do editorial or opinion articles. They did skits and satire. They pulled no punches, took no shit, and were hilarious while they did it. Ian and Anthony were the creative geniuses behind the magic. In the time she’d gotten to know them, they were great bosses and even better friends. Courtney had been with them about two years by now, working both behind and in front of the camera. They also discovered that she had a knack for talking to people and getting them to open up. It made her a good point-woman for talking to sources and informants.

Courtney stepped off the elevator to find the office already bustling with activity. She gave a bright smile or two to her passing co-workers as she walked towards her desk. People walked to-and-fro, carrying skit props, cameras, and everything in between. Courtney tried not to notice the rubber knife that stuck out of one box, stained with fake blood.

“The guy’s dirty, man. We don’t want her anywhere near that.”

Courtney’s ears perked up at the sound of Anthony’s voice. She refrained from dumping her bag on her desk to instead crane her neck and peek into Anthony’s office. He was running a frustrated hand through his curly hair.

Ian was sitting at the corner of his desk, rubbing his beard while he spoke.

“C’mon, dude. When are we gonna get a chance like this? This is potential insider info. Nobody’s talking to him yet.”

“With good reason! Whoever started the job might try to finish it!”

Courtney’s hand idly tapped on her desk for a second. This sounded interesting. She pushed off the desk to make her way towards Anthony’s office.

“Look, the guy’s in Metro-General Hospital. It’ll be safe.”

“How are my boys doing today?” Courtney knocked on Anthony’s open door before leaning against the frame.

The two turned their attention to Courtney.

“Hey Court, how you doin’?”

“You sleeping okay?” Anthony asked.

Courtney rolled her eyes and took a swig of her coffee before responding, “What, my concealer not good enough to hide the eyebags?”

Anthony raised his hands in surrender and gave a nervous chuckle, “Not going there. Got it.”

“So, what are you two conspiring?”

The two exchanged a look. Anthony was first to try and brush it off.

“Nothing.”

“We got a source for you.”

Anthony tightened his glare at Ian, who grinned like nothing was wrong.

Courtney smiled at them. The two heads of New York’s most hard hitting, shit-stirring online news outlet had always been such characters. They were both the most immature and most persistent professionals that Courtney had ever met in the field. Even if the two bickered like children more often than not, they were united when it mattered. When either of them got hold of a potential story, they were like dogs with a bone. There was no getting them to drop it once they sunk their teeth into it.

“She’s a big girl, man. Let her decide.” Ian motioned to Courtney as he spoke to Anthony.

Anthony leaned back into his big office chair and blew out an exasperated sigh. He nodded and raised his eyebrows a little, “Okay. Go on.”

Courtney nodded as well and motioned for Ian to continue. The possibilities were already running through her head. Anthony only got this way when Ian wanted Courtney on the crime beat. And he all the more got this way when it was something risky. Courtney trusted Ian’s judgement just the same. She knew they wouldn’t throw her straight to the dogs. In front of the dogs, maybe.

Ian shifted on the table to face Courtney. His hands clasped together, and he took a breath before he began.

“I’m sure you’ve heard about all the gang stuff going down, right?”

“Sure. Dogs of Hell, Kitchen Irish, Mexican Cartel, couple of other small players are all going at it.” Courtney nodded, her brows knitting together to form a frown.

“That’s what we think!” Ian wagged a finger in emphasis, “Last night, the Irish got hit bad. That’s already in the papers and online. Everyone thinks they’re going at each other’s throats, but what if it’s a new player?”

Courtney gave a slight shrug, “Sounds like bad news for the city. What makes you think it’s a different party?”

“Matt at the precinct says this doesn’t match up with any of their MOs. The Irish hit was hard, fast, and precise. We’re talking like… military precision. But of course, this is all speculation, right?”

Courtney took a sip of her coffee and nodded before adding, “But you got a way to turn this speculation into something solid?”

“You got that right, sister! So, this one guy survives the attack. He gets cut up pretty bad diving for cover. He waits for the shooters to leave, then he goes to Josie’s and makes contact with none other than-”

“No.” Courtney’s eyes widened.

“Yes. Leak and Grossman, your avocados-at-law.” Ian leaned back on the table to grin at Courtney. He knew this was a surefire way to get her to follow this lead. Anthony groaned a little when this became apparent. Courtney had worked closely with Keith and Noah on multiple occasions now. Not to mention the one time they represented her.

Courtney laughed softly at the familiar moniker.

“So, he gets cut up diving away from a shooting, and he looks for defense attorneys? Not a hospital?”

Anthony spoke up this time, “You know how it is. Hospital’s going to ask questions, cops get involved, it goes south for him from there.”

“So, he reaches out to Leak and Grossman – why? Is he looking to get a witness protection deal?”

Ian hummed in affirmation, “Bingo. That was right before he collapsed from blood loss in the bar. Now he’s in Metro-General with the lawyers and that paralegal of theirs, Olivia. They got a cover story to throw off suspicion.”

Courtney pursed her lips for a second before nodding, “Okay, I’m in. What’s the guy’s name?”

“Calls himself Grotto,” Anthony chimed in before giving Courtney a slightly pained look, “I don’t think I’m talking you out of this, so can I at least ask you to stay safe?”

“I can take care of myself. Don’t worry about it too much, my guy.”

“Still carrying that piece?” Ian tilted his head knowingly.

Courtney quirked an eyebrow but tapped her bag meaningfully just the same. She didn’t go anywhere without it.

***

Courtney arrived at Metro-General in the afternoon, once she was done settling matters in the office. She called ahead and learned from Olivia the room number Grotto was in. He was registered under the name Steve McReary, on the off chance that whoever was gunning for the Irish tried to finish the job. Olivia said that the false name was a little overkill, but one could never be too safe. Courtney made her way through the hospital’s familiar hallways. The strong scent of industrial cleaner and alcohol were thick in the air. The smell mixed with the tangy metallic tinge of blood as she passed by the very busy Emergency Room.

The elevator took her up to the appropriate floor, and she double checked Olivia’s text before making her way to the appropriate room.

“Hey, Court-Court!”

Courtney came to a stop and turned to the source.

Keith was by the vending machine, wearing a three-piece suit that seemed far too colorful for a defense attorney; he made the look work somehow. Standing next to him was Noah, in a subtler, more low-key suit. They had matching, cheap cups of hospital coffee.

“Hello, counselors!” Courtney pulled the two men in for a big hug. She pulled back to get a better look at them both. The two lawyers appeared worse for wear, much less groomed than their standard. Noah’s curly hair was unrulier than ever, and a few stray curls were drooping down to his face. Keith looked rough around the edges with his usually shaven face now prickly with stubble. Their eyes both gave away their lack of sleep in their bloodshot and baggy appearance.

“You two look… tired?”

“Oh, girl, what gave it away?” Keith rolled his eyes a little before taking a sip of the bitter coffee.

“Our _client_ came to us pretty late last night. After he collapsed and we checked him in, we barely had time to go home, sleep, shower, and come back. We just finished going over the forms with Olivia.” Noah explained. He paused then, before tilting his head slightly and adding, “Liv said you’re here to get first dibs on our client?”

“Yep. Your _client_ is a little different from your usual clientele, isn’t he?”

“I know we stay away from the professional criminal types but – well, hard to turn down a guy scared shitless and bleedin’ half to death, Court.” Of course, Keith – bless his soul – could never turn down someone in need. Even if that someone worked with the Irish mob, apparently.

“Yeah, I’d say we have a soft spot for the bloody, scared shitless type,” The corner of Noah’s mouth twitched upward into a teasing smile as he gave her a knowing look.

“Hey,” Courtney protested, “I wasn’t that bloody-”

“You kinda were.”

“-And at least I don’t work for the Irish.”

Keith and Noah’s eyebrows shot up almost in unison. Noah’s head snapped back and forth to check for anyone that may have overheard. Thankfully for him, the hallway was mostly deserted. It was a slow day in this wing. Keith took a step closer to nudge her with his elbow.

“Okay, okay. Keep it down. Staff don’t know what happened, cops don’t even know about this guy. Yet. And it better stay that way, you hear?”

Courtney’s hand came up to her chest to make a show of crossing her heart, “For sure. It’s a developing story – I get it. None of this goes public until it’s all cool, okay?”

“Atta girl, Court,” Noah glanced at his watch before downing the rest of his coffee, “Now, we really need to get going. We got clients waiting at the office, and nobody to help sort through our documents.”

Courtney frowned and took a half step around Noah, “Wait – what about… Steve? Isn’t he like, top priority?”

“He hasn’t woken up,” Keith answered, “Liv is in there with him. She was with us last night, so anything we know, she knows too. You grill her and we’ll be back tonight.”

She couldn’t blame them. Leak and Grossman had been a functional law firm for barely a year, but they were already making a name for themselves. After becoming their first client and having her name cleared of all charges, she’d become fast friends with the busy trio. It helped that Ian and Anthony were quick to notice her new connection. From time to time she’d be _embedded_ with the firm to get all the firsthand accounts of developing cases. When things began to wrap up, and it was safe to put the news out, Smosh got the exclusive. Courtney didn’t mind either. Ever since that whole mess a year ago, she preferred being on camera a little less. Less stalkers and psychos that way.

Courtney let herself into the hospital room. It was dimly lit, with the blinds pulled low and a single floor lamp turned on. The steady beeping of the EKG machine was paired by the slow drip of the IV. Lying unconscious on the hospital bed was Grotto. His face was marred with numerous small cuts that could easily be attributed to broken glass. His messy brown hair was slightly matted with dried blood. If she had to guess, his hospital gown was concealing the worst of his injuries. Courtney’s eyes found their way back to his face. He couldn’t have been much older than herself.

The soft click as the door closed behind Courtney caught Olivia’s attention. She wore a tan blazer over a white blouse, and shared Keith and Noah’s slightly disheveled look. Her eyes shot up from the tablet she was scrolling through. She gave Courtney a bright, but tired smile.

“Hey, Court.”

Courtney crossed the room with quiet steps to give Olivia a quick hug and return the greeting. She took a seat next to Olivia and drew her small notepad and a pen.

“So, what do we know?”

Not a whole lot, apparently. Grotto passed out from blood loss not long after he met the three last night. The drugs were keeping him out like a light for a good couple more hours. Olivia explained that Grotto claimed it was like they were hit by an army. Grotto said he was a messenger – practically an errand boy. He never saw action, especially not action like that. Olivia said that Grotto wouldn’t stop shaking and fidgeting the entire night. The guy was scared out of his mind and was sure that whoever hit the Irish would come after him. He wanted to get into witness protection, which is why he went to Leak and Grossman for representation to cut a deal with the District Attorney.

Olivia told her that they hadn’t contacted the DA’s office yet so they could keep Grotto safe. When he was awake and lucid, they could hit up the DA.

“Any idea who’s behind this? Did you guys talk to Raub at the precinct? Ian got a word or two, but not much.” Courtney leaned back in her chair as she tapped her pen against the notepad in her other hand.

Olivia blew a stray hair out of her face that had escaped her ponytail. “Well it’s got them worried. Matt says they’re calling it _massive gang-on-gang overkill_.”

Courtney grimaced at the term. She’d read the reports but considered herself lucky enough not to see much more of the carnage. The detailed reports were already enough to make her stomach turn.

“Morgue is full,” Olivia made a face to match Courtney’s, “Matt suspects a team of paramilitary types. They’ve got some serious firepower too. The Irish were wearing bulletproof vests. AP rounds punched holes clean through the vests and then them.”

Courtney spared a glance at the tablet in Olivia’s hand. She was skimming through the what little case notes she had, along with a couple crime scene photos she probably convinced Matt to part with. She could make out the overturned chairs and shredded wood. Broken glass sprinkling the scene. Blood splattering the walls. Bullet-riddled bodies strewn across the pub. It wasn’t a pretty sight.

“Aren’t you worried?” Courtney crossed her arms to give herself whatever semblance of comfort she could.

“Worried that the shooters are after us?” Olivia waited for Courtney’s affirmative hum, “Nah. So far the shooters have been hitting gang hideouts and meetups. I doubt they’d be bold enough to hit a hospital.”

“Hope you’re right, Liv.”

***

He would be lying if he said he wasn’t expecting the rug to be pulled out from under him. On the plane ride home, it was all he could think about. That was the sort of humor the higher powers tended to have, you know? All’s going well, you’ve been through shit and back, when you’re finally going home – that’s when they’re going to fuck it all up for you.

But then he got home fine. His wife was overjoyed to see him, and he couldn’t pry his daughter’s arms off from around his neck even if he tried. He collapsed that night in bed, the sheer exhaustion catching up to him. He was just so tired. He never felt that tired in his life. Not when he’d gone two days without sleep, exchanging gunfire in some shithole or another for hours on end. But now it was all too much, wrapped up in his wife’s arms he’d all but forgotten the feeling of.

The next day, at Central Park, there was still a part of him that was expecting the world to take it all away from him. But he silenced it as best as he could.

The sun beat down on them in that way that brought out the smell of the earthy grass. His lady held onto his arm. He carried his daughter with the other. All was well. He couldn’t have asked for anything better. He pressed a kiss to his wife’s head. He was home. He wasn’t going back out there. He had a family to stay for.

There was a sound just then. Metallic. Sharp. He blinked slightly and cleared his head. It was just his mind playing tricks on him.

He didn’t hear the bullets flying until it was too late

***

The afternoon passed with Courtney and Olivia discussing what little they knew. Working from there, they came up with all the things that they _didn’t_ know, so they could question Grotto. The lack of sleep eventually caught up to Olivia at one point, and she nodded off briefly. Courtney took the opportunity to nab her tablet and go through the case files. When her morbid curiosity got the better of her, she browsed the crime scene photos as well.

It was a different sort of brutality, quite unlike any of the gangs. No scorched flesh and point-blank executions like the Dogs of Hell. No blown out kneecaps like the Kitchen Irish. No sawed-off heads like the Cartel. This was brutal in the sheer efficiency of the attack that was carried out. The Irish were barely able to return fire, judging by the notably low number of spent bullet casings lying on the ground. Courtney couldn’t blame Grotto for being so shaken up. If whoever pulled off that attack was coming after her, she’d be fleeing the country in no time.

When Grotto finally came to, evening had already fallen. He sat up, wild eyes darting about the room, and then back and forth between Courtney and Olivia. He looked down at his midsection and suddenly cringed. A hand shot up to press against his side before he glanced back at the medical equipment he was hooked up to.

“Fuck – what the – where-”

Olivia was first to stand up and take a step closer to him. “Hey, Steve – hey, calm down. You’re in Metro-General, you’re safe, okay? You’re safe.”

Grotto looked at her with wide eyes like he thought she was insane. He leaned forward with a little difficulty and craned his neck in the direction of the door.

“Steve, you lost a lot of blood and you need to rest. ‘Kay?”

“What – who the fuck is Steve?” Grotto turned his pained and confused face back to Olivia. Olivia at this point was returning to her seat so she could tell Keith, Noah, and the DA’s office that Grotto was awake and responsive.

“You’re Steve McReary, and you got hurt last night in a bar fight while defending my honor,” Olivia explained in a monotonous tone. Courtney wondered if the story sounded more convincing last night in the heat of the moment in the Emergency Room.

“I’m your wife, Isabel, and I’ve loved you since I was sixteen, hot Irish temper and all.”

Courtney made a face when Olivia finished, but nodded along, “I’m your half-sister, Cait. Isabel here called me as soon as it happened because we all know your broke ass ain’t paying for the bills.”

Grotto blinked several times as the tension in his face eased a fraction, “Right. Cait, Isabel. Loves, we need to get the fuck out of here.”

“Nobody else knows you’re here. You’re sa-” Olivia was quickly cut off.

“Isabel, if you say I’m safe one more time, I swear to Christ,” Grotto paused to take a deep breath, “The mad bastard who did this is gonna want to finish the job. We need to get to the precinct or something.”

“Wait – bastard, singular? I thought it was,” Courtney raised a hand to make air quotes, “An army”

“Lass, it was _like_ an army. At first, I thought it was just – you know – like a ghost story they tell the new blood. That it was just one man doing this.” Grotto spoke in a hushed, hurried tone as he fiddled with the tubes and wires connected to his person.

Courtney licked her dry lips. She’d seen the photos now. The hits were professional. A team of highly trained killers was one thing – but one man doing all of this? It made her shudder to think about it.

“I’ve never seen anything like it. If that nut is after me-”

The lights flickered once before going out. A long, deafeningly quiet second passed before the backup generator kicked in. The emergency lights came to life with an audible buzz. Grotto’s EKG machine came back on with a sharp beep, which was soon drowned out by the hospital’s fire alarm. Shouting, yelling, and the sound of hurried footsteps began to fill the hall outside.

“Fuck – okay,” Olivia slung her purse on before returning to Grotto’s side. Together, they started yanking free the assortment of tubes and wires connected to him, “Court, we need to get my client out of here.”

“I’m parked outside,” Courtney grabbed her bag with unsteady hands, “We just need to make it downstairs and outside and we’ll be fine, okay?”

Courtney retrieved her .380, taking comfort in the weight in her hands. She flicked the safety off and approached the door just as Olivia assisted Grotto in climbing out of bed. Courtney took deep breaths in an attempt to calm her rapidly beating heart as she approached the door. The stairs weren’t too far away. They just had to cross the hall, take a left, and make a break for it. Grotto and Olivia would have to lead so they could set the pace of their escape. Courtney was the only one who was armed and she sure as hell wasn’t giving her gun to Grotto. She’d have to take the rear and defend the group from the shooters. Or _shooter_ , if Grotto was to be believed.

Once Olivia and Grotto fell in step behind her, Courtney motioned for them to wait. With her free hand, she cracked the door open enough to peek outside. Her breath hitched.

A lone silhouette stalked across the hospital’s halls with purpose and violence in every stride. A single security guard stood in the figure’s way. His gun came up with shaking hands to point at the figure.

“S-stop! Put your hands above your head!”

The figure lunged forward and ripped the pistol free from his hands. A single backhanded swing sent the guard crashing into the ground, his head smacking into the wall on the way down. The figure flicked his wrist to one side, ejecting the magazine across the room. He yanked the slide back to release the chambered round before unceremoniously dropping the pistol in a nearby trash can. His obstacle now neutralized, he continued stalking forth, drawing a short shotgun from his jacket.

Courtney used to think Death was a skeleton that wore black robes and carried a scythe. Today, she learned Death wore a denim jacket, had dirty blonde hair, stormy blue eyes, and carried a shotgun.

And today, Death was coming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it for now. If you're interested in seeing this continue, don't forget to leave kudos and drop a comment. It means the world to me hearing what you guys think of my work, especially this very experimental piece.


	2. The One-Man Hit Squad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Courtney, Olivia, and Grotto make their escape, and deal with the aftermath of the chaos the shooter leaves in his wake.

“Fuck.” Courtney tugged the pistol’s slide back in a press check once more. Not so much to actually see if she was loaded – she’d already done that this morning. At this point she was just buying herself time. She knew what she had to do. Now it was a matter of gathering the guts to do it.

“What?! Is it safe?” Olivia’s voice came out in a hurried and sharp whisper.

“No, but we need to go. He’s coming.”

“Ah hell. Gimme that, lady.” Grotto made to grab Courtney’s gun.

Courtney stopped him with the heel of her palm against his collarbone and her fingers thrust into his neck. Grotto took a step back and choked out a cough, “Jeez!”

“Back off!” Courtney growled at the man before turning her attention back to the door. She took several deep inhales through her nose, letting the exhales come out sharply through her mouth. Preparing to open the door, she turned back to her companions, “I’m going to buy you some time so you can cross the hall. Liv, you take the lead with Grotto, got it?”

“Got it.”

Before she could second guess herself, or get any more disagreements from Grotto, she flung the door open and turned the corner. The shooter was closer now. He wore a scowl on his bruised face at the sight of them. There was a flurry of activity – nurses, doctors, and other people were rushing down the corridor to escape the gunman. Once they were clear from her line of fire, Courtney raised her .380 and pulled the trigger twice in quick succession. The snap of her gunfire echoed throughout the halls and forced the shooter to duck behind the nurse station.

Olivia and Grotto dashed behind her and across the hall, bumping into a few other fleeing people as they went. The shooter mimicked her tactic, stepping from cover and firing the shotgun downrange. The even louder bark of the shotgun was deafening within the confines of the hospital walls. Courtney ducked low and to the other side of the nurse’s station. The ceiling panels above came crashing to the ground as a result of the buckshot’s impact.

Courtney stayed low as she ran, taking the chance to catch up to Olivia and Grotto when they took a left, passing a meal cart. Courtney twisted her torso and pointed the gun back. It cracked two more shots out, driving the gunman to slide into cover. She ducked left and down the hall. Courtney had to suppress a startled, horrified yell just as another earsplitting bang rang out. It sent the meal cart spinning behind Courtney as food and ceramic plating scattered into the air and onto the walls and floor.

Olivia shoved the emergency stairs’ door open, allowing Grotto to limp inside as fast as he could. Courtney nodded once at Olivia to send her after Grotto, who was already limping down the steps. Another resounding bang reverberated throughout the hall. Courtney yelped as she ducked; the wall next to her erupted with a puff of plaster and dust as the pellets tore into it. She took cover in the stairwell and spared a glance down the hall to find the gunman closer than expected. His confident, aggressive strides were long, and he covered ground quickly down the open hallway. Courtney peeled from cover to take aim at his torso. That’s when she realized he wasn’t wearing a black shirt under the denim. He wore a black bulletproof vest over a grey shirt.

Ever since the incident, and after she was cleared of all charges, hitting the gun range was one of the first things Courtney did. She had no idea what she was doing. She was unreasonably intimidated by the other, more seasoned people there. When she’d done her fair share of hemming and hawing at the sidearms available to use, she was approached by a competitive shooter. They weren’t nearly as intimidating as she’d expected. On the contrary, they were more than happy to welcome a new shooter to the range. Courtney received recommendations, and then shortly after that was drilled through the basics. By the end of the day, her hands were dark with gunpowder, and her grouping was impressive for a first timer. Second timer, if you counted her apartment.

Aiming for center mass was one of the first things she’d learned. Headshots, arms, legs – that shit stayed in the movies, unless you’re some special forces operator. With that in mind, Courtney was quick to learn to put several rounds, tightly grouped, into a target’s torso.

Too bad those competitive shooters never taught her what to do when her target waltzed up to her in body armor.

Deciding it was quite literally do or die, Courtney took control of her breathing in preparation. The shooter ran a hand through his short blonde hair before bringing the shotgun up to take aim. Courtney let the shot out before all but diving back into cover. The shooter’s pained grunt was nearly inaudible over the buckshot that rang out and tore through more ceiling panels.

Courtney steadied herself against the handrail and righted herself. Her head snapped back and forth in search of something – anything to barricade the door with. That’s how it always went in the movies, wasn’t it? Some convenient pipe to bar the door, maybe. But this wasn’t a movie, and she was shit out of luck.

She took the steps down two at a time in an attempt to reach Olivia and Grotto. After nearly jumping down the last few steps to reach the next landing, Courtney could make out a wisp of dark hair further down the stairwell. Courtney gulped as she willed her limbs to move faster.

Her body – her limbs, they felt _light_ in that way that only adrenaline could make them feel. The consequence to this lightness was that you lost your fine motor control. Every step Courtney took felt exaggerated. When she’d mean to take two steps, she’d take three or four. She sprang her way down the stairs at a dangerous speed. If she wasn’t careful, she’d trip and break something.

The deafening bark of the shooter’s shotgun bounced off the walls of the stairwell. Courtney let out another panicked scream as the buckshot dug into the wall and kicked up dust and concrete chips as she ran. Courtney threw caution to the wind as she practically leapt from landing to landing after that.

After crashing into a wall for the third time when she took far too many dangerous leaps, Olivia and Grotto were in sight at the next landing. Grotto was bleeding through his stitches and was hobbling more slowly now. Courtney wanted to shout, to push them forward – anything to make them hurry up.

“Hey, we doin’ okay?” Courtney’s breathless voice sounded nearly silent to her ringing ears. She slowed down as she reached Grotto, whose face was pink and covered in sweat from the exertion.

“Not great, Cait,” Grotto grumbled as he turned to look at her. His eyes widened then, and he grew a shade paler, “Oh, fuck.”

Courtney turned around; her pistol raised up preemptively. The shooter was a scant two landings away. Her other hand went back to feel for Grotto, to tell him to move forward. Courtney felt him shrug off her hand.

Courtney’s foot caught on something as her gaze was locked with that of the gunman’s. She lost her balance, crashing into a solid mass and careening down the stairs. Her ribs and her back cried out in pain for a few, very long seconds until she came rolling to a stop at the next landing. Courtney blinked the stars out of her eyes to find that she’d knocked Olivia down the stairs with her. The other woman groaned, squirming slightly as her sluggish hand came up to her head. Grotto had disappeared behind the door on their landing.

Courtney herself shifted until she got her back up against the wall. She felt around for her discarded pistol as the shooter loomed ever closer. She finally tore her eyes away from the man to find and grab at her gun.

It all happened so fast.

She seized her weapon and brought it up to point at her assailant, but he was quicker. The shooter grabbed the barrel of her gun with one hand, and with the other applied leverage to her wrist, effectively disarming her.

Courtney felt her breath catch in her throat. This was it. This was how it ends.

The tears beaded up at her eyes as she looked up at the man. Whatever plea for mercy she wanted to let out was caught in her throat. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out apart from a quiet whimper. Her vision blurred as the tears streaked down her cheeks. She couldn’t look away. His own dark, stormy blue eyes looked down at her for what felt like eternity.

She was waiting for the last echoing bang. The final bright muzzle flash before she was executed with her own weapon.

Instead, she heard the slight metallic click of her .380’s magazine release. Courtney blinked back the tears to watch him unload the weapon with a sharp tug on the slide. The unchambered bullet fell to the ground with an audible _cling_. That scowl on his face was reduced to a frown as he studied her own face. His eyes were tightened in what Courtney could swear seemed like frustration. But what did she know? The tears were still stinging her eyes from the raw emotion of facing mortality.

The shooter extended her own magazine and unloaded weapon back to her. Courtney stared back up at him dumbstruck.

“C’mon. Don’t have all day.” His voice was hoarse, like he hadn’t spoken in a while.

Courtney looked at his bruised knuckles as she complied and took the weapon back into her hands.

“Stay down and wait for the cops,” The shooter instructed, taking a few steps towards the door. He paused for a second, turning back to Courtney, “Good shot.”

Courtney’s wide eyes flitted away from the shooter’s. She saw the small tear in his Kevlar vest from where her shot had landed. Without further delay, he spared Olivia a glance as he pushed the door open and stepped through.

Courtney blinked several times.

He spared her. She was alive.

Courtney rubbed at her puffy eyes in an attempt to get her shit together. She turned and crawled over to Olivia, who was straining to push herself up onto her hands and knees.

“Shit, did – did you trip or something?” Olivia groaned.

Courtney wrapped Olivia’s arm around her shoulders and eased her back up to her feet.

“Yeah, I guess. We gotta-”

“Gotta get Grotto. Right.” Olivia nodded fervently before stopping to groan again.

“Shit, Court. Go ahead, I think I need to sit down for a bit. My head feels funny.” Olivia’s face twisted into a pained grimace as she spoke.

“Let’s get you out into the hall, okay? You’ll get help quicker that way.”

The loud, familiar boom of the gunman’s shotgun rang out beyond the door, causing the two women to wince. Courtney had a bad feeling he hit more than meal carts and ceiling panels this time. She held Olivia’s hand with her offhand as she led her out the door. They hobbled together through the door and out into the open hallway. Courtney’s head swiveled around to survey her surroundings. There were a few nurses hiding behind the station just up ahead. Further down the hall, she could make out a figure lying on a heap on the ground. The shooter was nowhere to be found.

“Hey, can I get some help, please!” Courtney called. She and Olivia slumped back against the wall, and Courtney assisted her in sliding down to the floor. A few heads peeked out from the nurse’s station before one of them turned the corner to join them.

“Check on Steve, Court,” Olivia muttered. She shut her eyes and held a hand to her head, while her other gave Courtney an encouraging squeeze. The nurse came down to a crouch to begin assessing Olivia. Courtney took the moment to straighten up and reload her .380. If the math in her rattled mind was right, she had two shots left. She probably wasn’t going to need it. The shooter seemed to have vanished.

Courtney motioned over to the nurses once more, and one man peeled off to join her. They rushed down the hall before coming to a stop at the grisly sight. Grotto was bleeding – dying, really – on the ground. His white hospital gown was almost completely drenched in red, torn open at the midsection by the shooter’s well-placed buckshot. Courtney could hear the nurse’s rapid breathing beside her. He glanced back at the station and then to Courtney.

“Keep pressure on it,” He instructed, before dashing off to the station, probably to grab bandages or whatever it was that could prolong Grotto’s life.

Having no other choice, Courtney dropped onto her knees. She hesitated for just a second before pressing her hands against Grotto’s bleeding torso. The pressure roused him, causing his head to jerk back up as he let out a pained groan.

“Hey, Steve – hey, we’re getting help,” Courtney’s voice was still drowned out by the ringing in her ears from all the gunfire. She did her best to give him a reassuring smile. Grotto shook his head sharply. His skin was taking a deathly pale pallor. His one hand came up to settle on her hands. Grotto squeezed her hand as he grimaced. His skin was cold and clammy to the touch, contrasting the warm blood seeping through his hospital gown.

“Sorry, Cait,” Grotto mumbled as he looked up at her through half-lidded eyes. Courtney frowned, not quite sure what it was he was apologizing for. She figured he was getting delirious from all the panic, and now the blood loss. Courtney gave him a nod instead. She hoped that the accepted apology for whatever sins he was confessing for would give him a little comfort in these final moments.

Courtney kept the pressure until the nurse returned with a trauma kit and a companion. The nurses snipped away at Grotto’s hospital gown to gain access to the wound, then got to work. They asked Courtney to step back, and she complied. Courtney rung her hands together, looking back and forth between Grotto and Olivia. Olivia had her back up against the wall and appeared to be nodding faintly as she spoke to the nurse assessing her.

The next hour was a blur. The police arrived not long after they began applying first aid to Grotto. Grotto’s heart gave out, prompting the nurses to begin chest compressions. It was no good. They lost him.

Courtney and Olivia were escorted outside, where the EMTs resumed their first aid work. The worst they got were superficial bruising and a handful of cuts. They were lucky to get out of the encounter unscathed and concussion-free, especially after their fall down the stairs. The police got to work sweeping the building to make sure it was clear, and the shooter was no longer there. It seemed like an exercise in futility to Courtney. The man was gone the moment he shot Grotto.

Matt Raub from the 15th precinct took Courtney and Olivia’s statements. Once he was done, he leaned against the ambulance wall. Courtney and Olivia sat shoulder to shoulder on the ambulance steps. Olivia rested her head against the doorframe, eyes closed. Courtney stared at her bloodstained hands, obsessively rubbing away, trying in vain to get the red out.

“You girls are lucky to be alive.” Matt stated the obvious.

Courtney raised her eyebrows and nodded in agreement but said nothing.

“Off the record,” Matt pointedly lowered the clipboard he’d been using to take their statements, “Do you have any idea why this guy didn’t finish the job?”

“He finished Grotto’s job, that’s for sure,” Olivia muttered with closed eyes.

“I meant you two. This nut blasts up the halls, knocks you two down the stairs, and he doesn’t kill you? Why’s that? This guy’s left nobody alive in his wake up until now.”

“To be fair…” Courtney pried her eyes away from her sticky hands, “I tripped. He didn’t knock us down the stairs.”

Matt shrugged and continued, “Same question. You were protecting Grotto. You _shot_ the guy. From what we know about the shooter, he doesn’t take too kindly to being shot at. Then you say he takes your weapon, unloads it, and gives it back to you? Doesn’t that sound strange to you?”

Courtney tightened her eyes into a glare, “I was there, Matt, I know how strange it was. I thought he – I thought I was,” The words caught in her throat. She had to gulp once and take a breath before continuing, “I thought he was going to kill me, okay?”

“Desk Sergeant Raub, are we being detained?” Olivia peeled her head off the doorframe to drop her tired yet steely gaze on Matt.

Matt raised his arms in surrender, “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to _interrogate_ you two. I just want to get to the bottom of this, like I’m sure you do too.”

“Well, Matt, that’s all we got. If we remember anything else, we have your number.” Courtney forced out a polite smile.

Matt sighed but gave them a nod and a pat on the shoulder to Courtney before turning and leaving. Courtney’s eyes trailed after him as he approached a few of the other witnesses to collect their statements. As difficult as it was to think back to that moment, Courtney did agree with Matt. This guy was a killing machine, given his track record. For all intents and purposes, she and Olivia should be as dead as Grotto. That security guard should be just as dead.

Courtney turned her head to another ambulance a little way off. The security guard was sitting on one of the steps, nursing his black eye. The three of them were spared, along with everyone else in the hospital. As far as the police could tell, Grotto was the only casualty. This was consistent with the shooter’s body count. To the police and the public’s knowledge, this guy was only putting killers and gangsters in the ground, like some kind of vigilante angel of death. Courtney shuddered to think of what the shooter would have done if he knew of her one-man body count. Maybe she would’ve ended up bleeding out on the hospital floor just like Grotto.

Keith and Noah’s sudden arrival broke her train of thought. The two men wrapped them up in a tight hug. In all the hustle and bustle, Courtney couldn’t catch what exactly was said. Her hearing was still shot, so that didn’t help either. When Keith held her face in his hands, she was finally able to focus down on him.

“Court, I was askin’ if you need a ride?” Keith repeated.

Courtney licked her lips and nodded a little. The question sunk in, and she quickly shook her head instead, “Uh, no. No, it’s fine. Thanks.”

“Girl, you and Liv-Liv got _shot_ at! And you plugged the guy! You sure you’re in a condition to drive home?” Keith raised his eyebrows with an all too easy to read disbelief.

Courtney vacantly turned her head to look at Olivia, who was hugging it out with Noah. Quiet sobs rocked Olivia’s small frame as the trauma, the fear, the relief finally hit her now that they were safe. Courtney placed one hand on her shoulder to give a big squeeze.

“You’re probably right, Keith.” Courtney admitted.

“Course he is. You two stay safe, I’ll take Olivia home,” Noah chimed in as he swayed back and forth slightly with Olivia in his arms.

That settled it. After taking another minute or two to breathe, Noah walked Olivia back to his car. Keith walked Courtney to her car before climbing into the driver’s seat. Courtney settled into the passenger seat, buckled in, and closed her eyes. She focused on the sound of Keith shuffling about, adjusting the seat and the rearview mirror. It was all she could do not to continue obsessively rubbing the faint red off her hands.

“You take it easy, alright? I’ll get you home in no time,” Keith said as he turned the engine on. Courtney gave a soft nod in response.

They were barely on the road for five minutes when Courtney’s phone rang. Upon checking the cracked screen (thanks to her tumble down the stairs), she saw Ian’s name and picture flashing brightly.

“Hey, Ian.” Courtney’s nonchalant tone fooled no one.

“Jesus Christ, Courtney, are you okay? We just heard the news!”

“Yeah, we – uh, we’re fine. Just a couple bruises here and there.” Courtney waved her hand as she spoke.

“Court, I’m so sorry I pushed you to check out this story. I should’ve-”

“No – hey. No, it’s okay. _I_ agreed to this. You didn’t push me to do anything.”

“Did he hurt you?”

Stormy blue eyes flashed through her mind’s eye. His scowl softened to a frown, and his eyes tightly narrowed in her direction.

“He scared the shit out of us, but no. No, he didn’t hurt us. He was only after Grotto.”

Courtney could hear Ian grunt on the other end of the line, “Should’ve known he’d try to-”

“Hey, dude, no. Don’t blame yourself, okay? No could’ve, would’ve, should’ve. We’re…” Courtney let out a sigh, “Okay.”

“We’re so glad to hear you’re in one piece, Court. Anthony’s preoccupied right now, but he’s both relieved you’re okay, and wants to strangle me.”

Courtney cracked a smile at that, “Tell him I said not to choke you too hard.”

After a couple more reassurances, and Ian’s offer for her to take the day off tomorrow (which she said she’d consider), they ended the call. Keith drove in silence, which Courtney couldn’t appreciate enough. With the night she had, she just wanted to go home, shower, and sleep for a day.

* * *

There was a sharp pang of guilt in his chest. It was clinging on and tugging at his heart strings, even as he pulled back on his rifle’s charging handle and loaded his grenade launcher.

He was getting messy. He hadn’t expected the two women being there with that shitbag, much less for one of them to start shooting at him. When the lawyers left and he waited ‘til evening, he thought that was it.

His tongue dashed over his split lip for a moment. The tears running down her face were etched into his memory now and were making his hands clammy. He held the rifle with one hand as he quickly wiped the other off on his jeans.

With every shot he plugged into the walls and ceiling, he was hoping they’d be scared off and get the message – step away from the shitbag, and _leave_.

He hated scaring good people like that, even if they covered for shitbags like Grotto. He doubly hated making women feel like that. Call it being old-fashioned or what – he didn’t give a shit. He just didn’t like scaring women.

He wouldn’t make the same mistake again. He’d been staking out this clubhouse for a good while now. No sharpshooting, innocent blonde ladies to traumatize here.

“One batch. Two batch,” He grunted as he took aim. He did his best to push the woman’s horrified, tear-streaked face out of his mind. That was a demon for another night.

“Penny and dime.” He pulled the trigger.

* * *

Soon enough, Keith parked the car in her usual spot. Courtney walked him back to the sidewalk, where he hailed a cab. After exchanging a parting hug, he was on his way home. Courtney made her way into her apartment building and went straight to her flat. She locked the door behind her and dumped her purse on the kitchen table.

The first thing Courtney did then was turn on all the lights she could. She really didn’t need to start imagining scowling blonde gunmen in the shadows. After that, she extracted her .380 from her bag, leaving the spare magazine inside. She pulled her maintenance kit and a box of ammunition out from one drawer, then a beer from her refrigerator. She cracked it open and took a long swig, downing half of it in one go.

She returned to her table and sat down. Courtney unfurled a roll of cloth on the table and got to work. She unloaded the chambered round, ejected the magazine, and got to work field stripping the pistol. Courtney took her time cleaning and oiling the gun, losing herself in the now familiar motions. There was a certain comfort and tranquility that came from the task, from maintaining and caring for what was essentially her lifeline when worse came to worst.

Courtney savored the metallic tang in the air, which finally overpowered the bloody tinge she could still smell from her hands. Once she was done with the cleaning, she loaded a bullet into the chamber and slammed a fresh magazine into place once the safety was flicked on. She pressed down against the singular round in the magazine she used that evening. With the spring depressed, she slid fresh rounds in with practiced fingers.

Satisfied with her work, Courtney returned the gun to her bag and packed up the kit. She downed the rest of her beer and haphazardly dropped it into the trash. She winced when she closed the lid; the sound was too loud in her small apartment and reminded her far too much of the shotgun’s bark down the hospital’s halls.

Courtney returned the maintenance kit and began opening her cupboards. It was days like this she cursed her practice of avoiding stocking hard liquor. Because fuck – if tonight wasn’t a night for hard liquor, she didn’t know what was. With an irritated sigh, Courtney pulled her fridge door open to grab another beer.

She leaned back against her kitchen counter as she sipped. She tried not to look down at her clothes, which were stained red with Grotto’s blood. There was a feeling of responsibility in his death that Courtney couldn’t shake. They told him that they’d keep him safe, that the lunatic with the gun wouldn’t find him. His cryptic apology at the end eluded her as well.

Maybe if she got them out of the room faster, he’d be alive. Or maybe if she’d done a better job at keeping the gunner suppressed. Or maybe if she nicked him in the limbs or the head, Grotto would still be alive. Then they could’ve gotten him to the precinct. Then Keith and Noah could’ve negotiated a witness protection deal that would catch the shooter or expose more of the Irish mob. They could’ve done a lot of good together.

Instead, all they got was another body to put in Metro-General’s overcrowded morgue. And she couldn’t do anything to stop it.

Courtney downed the rest of the beer before stumbling over to her bathroom. She tried to ignore the dark spot on her hardwood floor that looked darker and redder than usual.

A good shower was what she needed. Courtney paused when she gripped her shirt by the hem. It was going to be a bitch to get the blood out. She liked this shirt, too. With more than a little grumbling and cursing under her breath, she pulled the shirt up and over her head before discarding the rest of her clothes.

The water was hot and bordered on scalding. Courtney took her time scrubbing away, exerting probably a smidge too much force as she did so. Her eyes were locked on the floor drain, watching as the swirling water was tinted red with Grotto’s blood. Her skin was beginning to prune by the time she sat down in the shower while rubbing her hands raw.

Those eyes were burned into her mind. Those dark, greyish, cloudy eyes. The bruises and cuts marring his face. His split lip. The way his mouth was curled into a sneer for the majority of their encounter. His husky voice that fucking complimented how she _shot_ him. Courtney stared at her hands long and hard. She wasn’t sure anymore if her hands were reddish from Grotto’s blood or from being rubbed raw under the burning shower.

Courtney shut the shower off. Her pipes let out an audible thud as the water came to a stop, and it reminded Courtney way too much of her heart catching in her throat when her gun was torn from her hand. Those must have been the longest two or three seconds of her life, at the mercy of that man. The moment replayed in her mind as she toweled off. His firm grip on the barrel of her weapon. His swift hand pressing against her wrist.

She’d seen his crime scene photos. This guy was responsible for the deaths of at least thirty criminals that they knew of. Courtney could’ve been next on his list. It would’ve been quick and professional, like the rest of his handiwork. She was a killer; she doubted he would’ve treated her any differently from Grotto if he knew.

Courtney prepared herself for bed, shutting the rest of her lights off before climbing in under the covers. She pulled the gun free from her bedside drawer. After doublechecking the safety, she stashed it under her pillow.

When she closed her eyes, she could still see his face, frowning at her. Courtney reminded herself that she was spared in the end, because he didn’t know she’d shot someone dead. It meant the guy had some kind of code. He was going around punishing criminals but sparing whoever he thought was innocent.

Courtney did what she did best to avoid slipping into despair. She thought of work. Grotto may have been killed, but this opened up a whole new mystery to investigate. Now that the so-called paramilitary hit squad was revealed to just be one man, it left more questions than answers. Who was he? Why was he doing this? What was his story?

It’s been said that fear is one of the oldest, most basic, primal human emotions. And one of the greatest sources of fear was of the unknown. The human mind sat on a desolate island, surrounded by the inky blackness of the unknown. Knowledge, discovery – these were the torches that illuminated the darkness and carved a path forward to safety, away from fear.

The best way to deal with this gun-toting asshole was to learn more about him. Put a name to the face and find out what makes him tick. Maybe then she’d be able to get those damn dark, turbulent eyes out of her head.

Maybe she’d even discover that this guy had sound reasons for doing what he was doing.

For a long time now, Courtney had grown a tad cynical. Ever since the break-in, she didn’t see New York City like most people did. She saw the creeping shadows and dark alleyways that concealed untold danger. It was a hard way to live and took a toll on her sanity.

She wanted to believe there was goodness in all people, no matter how little, and as difficult as it may be to see it. That’s how she was raised to think. Courtney did her best to hold onto that shred of hope, even as her cynicism grew. Perhaps she’d uncover some of that goodness in the mystery shooter, if only to help alleviate the strain on her mind. She needed to humanize him. To see through the image of the vigilante with a gun. Underneath it all, he was a man. A person, like anyone else.

Courtney resolved to discuss this with Ian and Anthony the following day. They’d probably think she was insane for trying to uncover more information about the guy that could’ve put a bullet in her head. She’d deal with that when she got there.

Courtney wondered then how Olivia was doing. She’d have to call in and check up on her tomorrow. Perhaps she could rope Olivia in on this plan of hers – learn more about the guy so he wouldn’t be seared into their memories as the psycho with a shotgun.

It was a plan. The comfort that came about from having a plan was just what Courtney needed to ease into slumber.

She only wished her dreams didn’t involve running through an endless labyrinth of hospital corridors, dodging blasts of buckshot from her blonde, stormy-eyed assailant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hey hey! I figured I'd go ahead and publish the first full chapter. I hope you've enjoyed what I've gotten so far. Please leave some kudos and drop a comment, let me know how you're liking it so far! The next chapter will be a fun one, with Courtney on the hunt for the truth. You guys have a great day now!


	3. Misdemeanors and Legal Smooth Talking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Courtney and Olivia dig into the mystery shooter's past to place a name to the face.

Courtney distinctly remembered thinking to herself the previous morning: it would be great if her mind could give her some other dream or nightmare for once. Her wish was granted, but it may as well have come from some sort of trickster djinn. Her sleep was plagued by nightmares of the mystery shooter. She woke with a jolt that morning, fumbling and grabbing at her pistol, like she did far too often nowadays. Once the momentary panic subsided, she set about preparing for her day.

Her Keurig had just alerted her of her coffee being ready when her phone began to buzz. It was Anthony’s name and picture flashing on her cracked display this time.

“Mornin’, sunshine.” Courtney chimed.

“Hey, morning. Just wanted to check in, see how you’re doing.”

“Yeah, no – I, uh… I’m okay,” Courtney let out a humorless chuckle, “All good.”

“You don’t need to bother yourself coming in today, got it? I can’t even imagine what you went through.”

Courtney smiled at the concern and consideration Anthony and Ian never failed to provide her with. She always thanked her lucky stars for them. Not many people had bosses that were this accommodating. “I’m feeling better. Last night was… rough. But, the only way to go is forward, you know how it is.”

There was a short pause on the other end of the line, before Anthony tried again, “You sure? With the Grotto lead gone, we don’t have anything too pressing. Maybe a couple scripts you could look at, but that’s it.”

“Yeah, about that…” Courtney leaned back against her counter and braced herself, “I was thinking maybe I could come in and spend some time researching the shooter. We could release a profile or something. Depends on how much I can dig up.”

“The shooter?”

“Yeah.”

“The shooter that chased you and Olivia with a gun?”

Courtney bit her lip and hesitated for a second, “Technically he chased Grotto, and we were just in the way.”

“Court… Why?”

“Okay, I know how it sounds, alright?” Courtney let out sharply, before she sighed and continued, “But I need this. I need to know who this guy is. He could have killed me and Liv, but he didn’t. I need – I need to find out more. I need to know there’s a shred of good in this guy. If I ever want to close my eyes again without seeing him holding my gun – I just – I need this, okay?”

Courtney covered her mouth with her free hand after the words spilled out a little too freely and frantically.

“I’m sorry, Courtney. I get it. You do what you have to do.” Anthony answered after allowing her words to settle in.

“Thanks, boss.”

“Sure thing. See you soon, Court.”

* * *

Working at Leak and Grossman was many things, but boring was never one of them. The pay wasn’t great, which was unsurprising from a firm that helped the downtrodden and sometimes received payment in the form of boxfuls of bananas. The clientele ranged from poor old ladies to the occasional scowling wall of muscle with bruised knuckles and good intentions; a true colorful assortment of folks. The pantry was well stocked with coffee as well as pastries from grateful clients. Attorneys Keith Leak Jr. and Noah Grossman were funny, kind, compassionate, and damn good at what they did. Not to mention, they made great study buddies.

Getting shot at by some psycho in a hospital while trying to protect a client – that was a first. Olivia didn’t get a lot of sleep that night. She never got a good look at their attacker, but hearing Courtney and he exchange fire was traumatic enough. When she woke up the next day, she realized the Assistant District Attorney had left her a message.

Blake Tower was a nice enough guy from the few times Leak and Grossman had dealt with him. His boss, DA Reyes, was another story altogether. They’d tangled with her a few times. There was no shortage of threats to bury their firm and have Keith and Noah disbarred, and prevent Olivia from even taking the bar. The less they saw of her the better.

Tower simply said he was sorry to hear about her client’s untimely demise. He also mentioned in passing that the DA’s office was ready to arrange a WITSEC deal for Grotto in relation to the shooter, but now that was a bust.

Olivia never liked running from her problems. Being the small lady that she was, she liked subverting expectations by being headstrong, and facing problems directly. She wasn’t a quitter, and she didn’t back down. So, she resolved she’d tackle her fear of the mystery gunner head on. After Keith and Noah made it abundantly clear she didn’t need to come in, Olivia figured she’d be productive today and pay Tower a visit. Maybe they knew something about this mess.

She passed by Leak and Grossman to nab a cup of coffee and check in with her two favorite attorneys before she got going. With Grotto gone, they were back on their usual grind. A handful of clients sat in the waiting area, while Keith and Noah could be seen conversing with a man in one of their meeting rooms. The two gave Olivia curt waves when they saw her through the window. Olivia shot them finger guns in greeting before preparing her complimentary coffee. The office wasn’t too busy. They’d manage without her today.

The DA’s office was all cool glass and steel. It reminded her of Landman and Zack, where Keith and Noah interned before they started their own practice. It was all powerwalking, expensive suits, and high-stakes cases in places like this. A part of Olivia once dreamed of having an office like this, working in an environment like this. But working with Keith and Noah in their small, unassuming office, doing good things and helping people – that was what she really loved doing. Besides, Leak, Grossman, and Sui had a nice ring to it.

Sitting behind the desk at the front of the office was Assistant DA Blake Tower. He was a dark man of medium build. He had closely cropped hair, and a pair of glasses that rested at the tip of his nose. He looked up from his work and to her, before glancing once at Reyes’ office. The blinds were pulled low and visibility was obscured.

“Ms. Sui… Is this about your late client?” Tower stood up to offer a handshake, which Olivia accepted.

“Something like that,” Olivia gave him a terse smile.

Tower returned a calculating look, sat down, and leaned back with crossed arms.

“I suggest you tell Leak and Grossman that their services are no longer required. No witness. So, no witness protection.”

Olivia tightened her gaze right back at Tower and took several steps closer to stand at the foot of his desk. “Reyes is trying to take this guy down, isn’t she?”

“She’s the District Attorney. One could say it’s part of the job.”

“You got any info on the shooter?”

“The Punisher files are classified.” Tower glared.

Olivia raised her eyebrows at the moniker, “ _The Punisher_? What is this, a cheesy action flick?”

“It’s the nickname the office gave him, and again, it is _classified_.”

Olivia scoffed and leaned against his desk. She crossed her arms as she said, “Blake, I know Reyes’ track record. Pell, Kent, Davidson, how much of her competition – how many of her assistants have taken the fall because of her? If the DA’s office messes up while trying to nail this guy, you think _she’s_ going down?”

She leaned in, “You are.”

Tower’s glare loosened by a fraction, “Is this a threat, Ms. Sui?”

“I’m just looking out for you, bud. Thought you might need a reminder that you and Reyes,” Olivia glimpsed at the shuttered office and lowered her voice, “You’re not on the same team. She’s on her own team.”

Tower uncrossed his arms to place his hands on the desk, where he clasped his hands together. He sighed before saying, “Assuming the files on the shooter exist, what could you possibly need them for?”

“Maybe I need them to seek justice for my client’s next-of-kin. Maybe Leak and Grossman is interested in pursuing Mr. Shooter as a client.” Olivia shrugged as she gave him a sly smile.

“…Sui,” Tower began in a warning tone.

“I’m not gonna post them on YouTube, dude.” Olivia rolled her eyes but kept her voice low just the same.

Tower glanced at Reyes’ shuttered office one more time before leaning in close to match Olivia.

“Listen very carefully, Ms. Sui,” Tower raised his voice and began shoving several files into an accordion envelope, “You cannot come into my office and demand classified documents.”

“You are making unsubstantiated claims about my department and asking me to betray my boss. This is highly unprofessional and very inappropriate.” Tower announced as he stood up, bringing the elastic around the envelope to secure it. Olivia’s frown turned to one of confusion.

Tower’s head turned to peek at Reyes’ office a final time before extending the envelope towards Olivia. “I suggest you leave, Ms. Sui, before I call security.”

Olivia cautiously reached forward to take the envelope as Tower went on, “You will not contact me again. No walk-ins, no phone calls, no emails.”

She tucked the envelope into the crook of her arm and looked back at Tower’s face. His expression was bordering on pleading, like a man that knew he was in over his head.

“Good day now, Ms. Sui.”

Olivia gave him a soft nod and took a few steps back. There was no movement from Reyes’ office. Tower was putting on a good show and she didn’t need to let that go to waste. She turned and exited the office, her heels clacking on the expensive flooring as she walked. Olivia needed to pay Courtney a visit.

* * *

While Courtney did turn down the offer to stay home, she allowed herself to take a slow morning before heading in to work just the same. Lord knows she needed it after the night she had. Courtney didn’t miss the bagel sitting on her desk when she arrived. She smiled at the sight of it. Plopping down onto her seat, she grabbed the bagel to take a bite. She booted up her laptop and began getting to work.

Within the first hour, she had over twenty tabs open on her web browser. Courtney was pulling up multiple news reports for all the different hits the shooter pulled off. It was tedious work. New York City wasn’t exactly a stranger to gang-related violence, especially here in their neighborhood in Hell’s Kitchen. She had to sift through the dozens of articles based on what she knew about the shooter and his precise and brutal attacks. After another hour, she could say with little doubt that the Cartel, the Dogs of Hell, and the Kitchen Irish were his main targets. She could confirm that no other gangs were getting hit the same way.

The vigilante was a crack shot and it was evident in the various articles detailing the hits she connected to him. It made her think back to the previous night, and all the ceiling panels and meal carts he blasted. Courtney’s eyes settled on one of the censored photos attached to the article she was reading. That could’ve been her, but it wasn’t. The shooter had intentionally avoided gunning her down. It added up with all the news she was connecting – he didn’t hurt anyone that didn’t deserve it. Or at least, that _he_ thought didn’t deserve it.

Lunch came and went, allowing Courtney some time to stretch her legs and go out to get food. Her co-workers were giving her space, which she was grateful for. The last thing she needed was everyone badgering her to check in on how she was doing. Even Ian and Anthony were keeping their distance, but that was easier for them. They were two very busy boys, after all. When Courtney returned to the office, she recalled that she wanted to give Olivia a call to check in and possibly get her to join in on her investigation.

To her surprise, Olivia was sitting at her desk, legs crossed and fingers poking through the notepad that Courtney left.

“Hey, Liv. Comfy?” Courtney smiled at Olivia, who was now reclining the chair experimentally.

“I keep telling Keith and Noah we gotta get chairs like this. The good stuff, you know?” Olivia looked up at Courtney from her deep recline.

“Can they afford new chairs? Don’t you guys accept like, fruit baskets and cherry pie as payment?”

Olivia snorted and made a face before nodding, “They’re a bit too charitable. Sometimes I’m surprised we can still pay the bills.”

Courtney rolled a vacant chair over and sat down on it. She pursed her lips slightly, “So, what brings you to Smosh? You doin’ okay?”

“Brought you a present,” Olivia winked and straightened up to dig through her purse.

“Aw, Liv-Liv, you shouldn’t have,” Courtney drawled in an overly sweet tone.

From her bag, Olivia drew an accordion envelope and extended it for her to take. Courtney cautiously took the envelope into her hands and turned it over a few times to find it void of any markings.

“It’s, uh – a little ominous?” Courtney tilted her head at Olivia.

“It’s a slow day at Leak and Grossman. I went on a field trip.”

“A field trip to get this?” Courtney raised the envelope, earning a nod from Olivia.

“I paid a visit to Assistant DA Tower. Turns out the DA’s office has been eyeballing this shooter for a while now, even gave his profile a code name: The Punisher.”

Courtney scoffed, “A bit on the nose, don’t you think?”

“I dunno. Seems kinda fitting,” Olivia shrugged, “I think DA Reyes knows more than they’re letting on.”

“Why’s that?”

“So, get this, right? I show up to the office to hit up Tower with some not so small talk about Grotto. I start asking him about the shooter. Then Tower starts getting all uppity with me. He puffs out his chest and tells me to keep my nose out of the case. He says it’s none of my business and tells me to get out of the office.”

“But?”

“While he’s loudly telling me off, he slips me this envelope.”

Courtney looked down at the envelope in her hands. She fiddled with the flap as she glanced back at Olivia, “You never mentioned why you went on your little field trip.”

Olivia shrugged again, giving her a sad smile, “I don’t like being scared of this guy, Court. I figured we could get some insight and face our fears. Not with a gun like you, Atomic Blonde, but with research.”

A short laugh escaped Courtney’s lips before she nodded her head in agreement.

“Got somewhere quiet we can look these over? Whatever’s in there is bound to be… sensitive.”

Courtney led Olivia to a seldom-used meeting room in one of the more secluded parts of the office. It was supposed to be a conference room, but due to some design mess up or another, could barely fit three people and a table. Olivia sneezed at the dust that kicked up when Courtney set the envelope down on the table.

“Do the honors.” Courtney nudged Olivia.

Taking her cue, Olivia opened up the envelope and upended the contents onto the table. The grisly crime scene photos that found their way to the top of the pile made both of them flinch. In the pictures at the top were several men, suspended from meat hooks in a butcher shop.

“Jeez, that’s messed up.”

“Okay. Yeah. The moniker is fitting.”

Courtney was the first to reach out to begin spreading the photos out. It was quickly evident that the photos comprised the bulk of the envelope. Following that were a wide assortment of morgue reports, and another, slightly smaller envelope. The two focused on grouping the photos by crime scene, which was easier than expected. The bikers, Irish mobsters, and Cartel members all looked rather distinct, after all.

“This guy’s been busy, huh?” Olivia muttered as she leafed through the morgue reports.

“Could say that again… Anything stand out in the reports?”

Olivia hummed in consideration before replying, “More of the same. He’s a crazy accurate shot.”

“You know, I was thinking about that last night. We _should_ be dead. If this guy’s as much of a killing machine as these reports say, then,” Courtney motioned to the photos, “We should be in this file by now.”

“You think he didn’t want to hurt us?” Olivia gave Courtney a dubious look.

“Think about it, Liv. Everyone on this guy’s shit-list is a total dirtbag. He hasn’t hurt anyone that didn’t deserve it.”

“That we know of.”

“What happened to innocent until proven guilty?”

Olivia scoffed, “Ask the Punisher, not me.”

“Touché.” Courtney laughed.

The quiet settled over them once more in the stuffy meeting room. Courtney’s fingers gently ran across the gruesome photos splayed out in front of them. She suddenly remembered Matt Raub and how he said they were lucky to be alive. Courtney sat barely a foot away from him with her back to the stairwell’s wall last night. She could see those eyes again in her mind, stormy and dark, squinting down at her. First stalkers, and now this _Punisher_ character.

“Sometimes I wonder if I attract this sort of stuff. Like a magnet, y’know?” Courtney mused out loud. Her eyes went to her hands, which she swore still seemed redder than usual, stained with Grotto’s blood. Olivia lowered the reports to turn her attention to her companion. Olivia tilted her head slightly with a frown on her features.

“The occasional death threat, stalker breaking into my apartment, and now this? Remind me never to hit up the lottery with this luck.”

Olivia placed a comforting hand on Courtney’s arm, “Court, none of that is on you. You can’t blame yourself.”

“I keep thinking – if he knew what I did… If he knew about that night, I don’t think he would’ve let me go.”

It took a moment for recognition to cross Olivia’s face. She shook her head vehemently and put her foot down, “Court, no. That was different.”

“I killed him.”

“It was self-defense, and no prosecutor could prove otherwise.” Olivia squeezed her arm.

“I shot him seven times, Liv. What if – what if I deserved punishing?” Courtney crossed her arms and found herself unable to look away from the grisly photos strewn across the table.

“Well, according to the courts, you don’t. Look,” Olivia tugged on Courtney’s arm gently, and ducked her head a little to meet Courtney’s eyes, “That guy broke into your apartment with a knife and a gun.”

“This asshole,” She motioned towards the photos, “Opened fire in a hospital while trying to get to Grotto. You’re not the one that deserves punishing here.”

Courtney couldn’t form any words to respond to that, so she pursed her lips and nodded. After a beat, she gave Olivia a brief, grateful smile and resumed looking through the photos. Olivia set her own laptop down on the table and got to work. Courtney matched the photos with the morgue reports, while Olivia ran the names through whatever databases she had access to. Courtney cross-referenced these with the different news articles she pulled up earlier.

Most of it was lining up well enough. Murderers, drug dealers, rapists, gun smugglers, you name it, and these deceased criminals did it. The morgue report on Grotto was here as well. According to Olivia’s searching, he was suspected to be linked to a few breaking and entering cases but was never charged. He was no goodie two-shoes messenger boy but was still nowhere near as bad as the rest of the criminals on the Punisher’s hitlist. They had to wonder for a moment there if the Irishman was hiding anything from them.

After an hour or two of peeking into the lives of the countless dead men, Courtney stepped out to get them some coffee. By the time she got back, Olivia had unearthed the envelope that had gotten buried underneath the sizeable mound of photos and reports. Olivia traded Courtney the envelope for her cup of coffee. Courtney turned it over and found Metro-General Hospital’s name and address printed on one corner.

Courtney gave a half-shrug to nobody in particular. It could just be more reports from the hospital. That was until she spotted the name written in marker on another corner: ****S. Topp****. Written in pen underneath it was the appointed nurse in charge, George Bach.

Olivia set her coffee down to approach Courtney and peer over her shoulder. Courtney peeled the flap open and reached in to pull the contents free. It was the x-ray of a skull. Towards the side of his cranium was an unmistakable bullet hole. Courtney felt her breath hitch as her fingers ghosted over the wound that should have been enough to put anyone in the ground.

“That – that’s gotta be one of his victims, right?” Olivia’s nervous voice sounded from behind her. Courtney turned around to hand the sheet over to her companion.

“Patient S. Topp, Liv. This guy doesn’t leave a lot of patients. Just morgue entries. This has got to be him.”

“That’s a gunshot wound to the head, Court. People don’t just walk away from getting shot in the head.” Olivia’s voice was starting to border on frantic, “You think it’s self-inflicted? The guy’s a psychopath, maybe he shot himself.”

Courtney gave the x-ray a good look. The positioning of the wound was above the brow and to the right. Not the temple, not the roof of the mouth. People didn’t commit suicide by lining a gun up to above and to the side of their brow. She didn’t need a medical background to know that. Not to mention at point-blank range, it should’ve been fatal.

She shook her head, “It’s rare but not… unheard of for people to survive that kind of thing.” Courtney turned around to pick up the envelope they pulled the x-ray from. They had names and a hospital. They were solid leads.

Olivia was quiet for a second before speaking up, “You’re thinking of finding the nurse, aren’t you?”

It was a strange feeling – the excitement that bubbled up within Courtney’s chest. She gave Olivia a mischievous grin and quirked her eyebrows up twice, eliciting a laugh from the other woman. There were so many possibilities that arose from this. So many questions were cropping up. When Olivia dropped the envelope on the dusty table, she was expecting answers, not more questions. But questions were what made the job exciting, thrilling even.

“Don’t you wanna find out more about the guy who chased us around with a shotgun?”

Olivia smirked and rolled her eyes fondly. She stepped passed Courtney to slide the x-ray back into its envelope and pack up the rest of the documents and photos. “You’re driving, Court.”

* * *

It took a fair bit of flashing press-passes and legal firm IDs, but Courtney and Olivia eventually got answers. The hospital was still in slight disarray after last night’s shooting, but the disorder and lack of transparency was mind blowing. They were referred from person to person, and it was ridiculous how much red tape they were forced to cut through just to get answers. After speaking to the nth manager, they finally got a location on Bach, the nurse in charge. Or at least, the former nurse. While the hospital couldn’t (or wouldn’t) disclose anything on Topp, they did admit that Bach was no longer employed at Metro-General. He was terminated several months ago and was now working as a clinic nurse at a school somewhere else in town.

“The shooter’s lucky to be alive,” Courtney mused when they came to a stop at another red light. Her hands met at the top of the steering wheel. She idly rubbed at her fingers. Her nails scratched against one another, trying to scrape off the miniscule specks of dried blood that only she could see.

“City’s not so lucky. He’s turning the place into his personal shooting gallery,” Olivia said without looking up from her phone. She was scrolling through today’s news, “Your boy Topp blew up a Dogs of Hell clubhouse last night after shooting up the hospital.”

“All criminals?”

Olivia hesitated, “Well, yeah.”

“Guy’s got a code, Liv. I’m telling ya, there’s more to this than what we’re seeing.”

Once they broke free from traffic, they eventually arrived at the elementary school they were looking for. Finding Bach wasn’t as difficult here. After getting through security, and flashing another ID or two, they made it to the nurse’s office. Bach was an overweight man with wild, curly hair. His eyes looked equally wild at the sight of them, particularly at Olivia.

“Hey, Mr. Bach? We were hoping we could have a word.”

Courtney was all but ignored as he stared at Olivia, whose face was now scrunched up in confusion.

“Are you with them?” Was his question.

“Sir, we’ve never met before. With who?” Olivia asked.

Bach shrunk back in his chair and gave them a pained look, “Please, just leave me alone. Don’t make me call security.”

“Mr. Bach, I work with Attorneys Leak and Grossman. We understand you were fired by Metro-General. We’d like to ask you some questions about the incident.”

The man straightened up at that and parted his lips. They closed again as he seemed to chew threw his words before deciding what to say.

“We brought you coffee,” Courtney chimed in, raising the takeout cup they bought along the way.

Bach finally nodded and motioned for them to sit down on either of the chairs resting at the front of his desk. He accepted the coffee from Courtney with a grateful nod. Courtney and Olivia took their respective seats as the former produced the envelope. She drew the x-ray sheet out and handed it to Bach, who took it with uncertain hands.

“Yeah. That’s him…” Bach’s eyes were transfixed on the skull’s wound.

“You were with Topp when this was taken?” Courtney asked.

“That bullet tore through his head. It wasn’t pretty. Don’t gotta be a nurse to know not many people survive that.” Bach set the sheet down before taking a sip from his coffee.

“What was his condition like?” Olivia spoke up.

“He was a vegetable. I guess that’s why they decided he only needed one nurse. Guy didn’t get any visitors apart from… well,” He motioned towards Olivia, “The suits.”

Olivia looked down at the dark blazer she wore, unsure if she was supposed to feel insulted.

“Sometimes men, sometimes women. They all wore the same, like,” Bach motioned to the side of his head, “These earpieces. Never knew who they worked for, though.”

“Huh,” Olivia hummed quietly.

“They, uh – they pushed for a DNR, too.”

“ _Do not resuscitate_ , right?” Courtney leaned in slightly as she scribbled down at her notepad.

“Yeah. They had the paperwork and everything. I was there that night they pulled the plug.”

“Pulled the plug?” Olivia frowned, “This guy, he – you’re saying he died?”

Bach let out a humorless laugh and nodded, “It’s crazy but – uh, yeah,” He stammered, “It happens sometimes. He flatlined for like – like, a full minute, then boom. His heart started back up again. On its own.”

Courtney felt a chill run down her spine. She licked her dry lips and motioned for him to go on.

“After this, this just – this lack of activity for weeks after his surgery, he’s back. Within ten minutes of waking,” Bach shrugged, and raised his eyebrows in a manner that indicated he hardly believed it himself, “He grabs my scrubs, and he pulls me real close. And this guy, he’s strong. He’s strong like he hasn’t been dead for a minute, and a vegetable for weeks.”

“Then he tells me, _take me home_.”

Bach leaned back in his chair and blew out a frustrated sigh. He took a moment to drink more of the coffee and continued, “I shouldn’t have done it, y’know? Must’ve pissed off the suits. I knew I’d lose my job over it, but I couldn’t say no to the guy.”

“His home… Do you have an address?” Courtney slid her notepad across the desk. Bach looked up at her with uncertainty. Olivia gave Courtney the same look.

Bach wrote the address down, and they were out of his curly, stressed out head before he knew it. They walked back to Courtney’s car in silence. It was only after they shut the doors that Olivia spoke up.

“Not sure I like where this is going, Court.”

“C’mon, it’ll be fine. Think of it as another field trip, hm?” Courtney said as she started the car and flicked the headlights on. It was starting to get dark, and this address from Bach was on the other side of town.

“You’re thinking of breaking and entering into a mass murderer’s home. Are you hearing yourself?” Olivia turned to her fully now.

Courtney sighed and looked back as she reversed out of the parking spot. Once they were back on the road, she answered, “This is how we get answers, Liv. We want to find out who this Topp guy is, then this is how to do it.”

“I’m a paralegal, girl. I work with lawyers. I can’t run around committing misdemeanors with you. I want to find out more, too. But this is…” Olivia crossed her arms and looked out her window, “I’m not comfortable with this.”

“I’ll go alone. It’s fine. Where do you want me to drop you off?”

“Court, no. It’s dangerous. What if Topp is there?”

“I shot him once,” Courtney shrugged, “I could shoot him again.”

Olivia laughed at that, “You’re insane. I bet you two are a match made in psycho-heaven.”

Courtney gave her a half-hearted glare but didn’t respond.

“You can drop me off at the office. I’ll help the boys pack up for the night. I’ll fill them in on what we know, but they probably won’t be happy.”

“You could say that again.” Courtney chuckled.

* * *

The odds weren’t in his favor. That wasn’t something he was unaccustomed to. Overseas, that may as well have been part of the job description. Still, getting tortured, shot at, and having a hole drilled into his foot was a different story. But it didn’t matter.

He pressed his back against the concrete pillar, feeling the strength ebb away with each drop of blood that was leaking from his body. He slid down and left a streak of crimson along the smooth grey surface. His labored breaths filled his ears as he checked his weapon. The crack of automatic gunfire pummeled his cover, spraying him with chips of cement and dust. That was fine. He was ready for them.

Let it be said that he never went down without a fight. He was going to make them all pay. For his family.

“One batch. Two batch,” He muttered to himself. With a sharp tug on the pistol’s slide, he chambered a bullet. He swung from cover, taking aim.

“Penny and dime.”

* * *

Night had well and truly fallen by the time Courtney arrived at the Topp residence. It was a lovely two-story house in one of the nicer suburbs in town. All it was missing was a white picket fence to go with the America flag hanging at the front. Courtney parked her car one block down for good measure before walking over to the house. She circled it once, finding the back door that was more shielded from the public’s gaze than the front door. Watching the windows on both floors for several minutes, Courtney was eventually convinced that it was abandoned. Or Topp was lying in wait, ready to pounce at her. She chose to shut that thought away.

Let it be said that there was little Courtney wouldn’t do in search of the truth. Courtney smashed one of the back door’s glass panes with a rock. Once she was sure there were no loose shards that she might cut herself on, she stuck her hand in to unlock and open the door.

The musty air was what hit her first. Courtney raised a hand to her mouth to suppress the cough as the stale air permeated her nostrils. She stepped in and shut the door behind her. Sliding her finger along her phone’s cracked display, she turned the flashlight on. She found herself in the Topp household’s dining room. There was a small round table in the middle, and the plates were set for three diners. She took a cautious step forward, shining the light around.

It was all so… mundane. This was no murder-den or secret hideout. This was a home.

They had orange placemats and simple yet elegant plates, white with a subtle floral pattern. There were coasters for each diner, some of them with souvenir prints, and one with a cartoon of sorts. Courtney could make out a few German words on one, and a maple leaf and moose on another. Courtney leaned in to get a look at the last and found Scooby-Doo grinning at her. Courtney’s heart sank. She brought her phone’s light back up to survey the scene. In the nearby living room, she could make out several toys scattered on the floor, including an RC Humvee.

This guy is a father. _Was_ a father?

Courtney gulped and took a step towards the kitchenette while she gathered the courage the explore the living room. There was no shortage of equipment. It put her crummy gas stove and oven to shame. There were food processors, blenders, emulsifiers, and all sorts of bits and pieces of cookware she couldn’t even begin to name. Her light caught a small wooden reading stand in the corner, and the book that sat atop it.

An amused smile worked its way up to her lips. It was a cookbook, with a very muscular, shirtless man on the cover. It was aptly titled _The Shredded Chef_. Topp seemed like a pretty fit guy in the five minutes she’d encountered him. Courtney figured this was how he stayed shredded apart from his vigilantism. She curiously leafed through the dusty book, finding numerous recipes packed with nutrition and protein. She had half a mind to take it, but she didn’t want to turn her misdemeanor into a felony if she got caught.

The cupboards were stocked with different plates, bowls, glasses, and mugs. Others stocked canned goods and other staples. Courtney noticed an abundance of rice.

Courtney pulled the refrigerator door open. She wasn’t so sure what she expected, but it was again all very mundane. There was an assortment of food – leftovers, she assumed – packed into Tupperware.

There was another tug at her heartstrings then. Leftovers meant that whoever lived here meant to come back. It was looking like they never did.

Courtney resumed her search before the thoughts could overwhelm her. She found some boxes of OJ and milk. Lots of eggs. An unreasonable amount of yogurt.

She frowned and pulled one out for inspection. _Macrogurt, for all your healthy-minded and bodybuilding needs_. Courtney’s face scrunched up at the unpleasant sounding name, and the copywriting that could’ve been penned by a college bro in a frat house for all she knew. She returned the yogurt and closed the fridge.

The living room was where the real story was. Courtney turned the flashlight away from the toys to scan the rest of the room. They had a large TV, with several game consoles resting beneath it. A big, comfy looking couch dominated one side of the room, next to an armchair. By the front door, a small mountain of bills and letters was piling up. Rotting flowers wilted away atop the coffee table. A lonely looking piano stood silent on one side of the room. The walls were lined with photographs. She brought her phone’s light back up to get a better look.

The portrait picture caught her attention first. It was of a handsome young man with short, dirty blonde hair and radiant blue eyes. He wore a uniform that was unmistakably a Marine Corps soldier’s dress blues. It made sense now why the man was so ruthlessly efficient at dispatching criminals. Courtney’s hand hovered before the photo for a long moment before it returned to her side. His name was printed at the bottom of the photo.

“Shayne Robert Topp…” Courtney muttered.

His bruised and battered face was almost unrecognizable the previous night. His angry scowl and tight glare were worlds apart from the man’s easygoing look in the photo. Hell, this guy was _hot_. The man that shot up the hospital last night felt like a completely different person.

Courtney shook the inappropriate line of thinking away, turning her attention instead to the next photo on the wall. It was a wedding photo. Shayne’s wife was gorgeous. Courtney let out a sound akin to a scoff and a chuckle. Of course, she was gorgeous. It was only fitting that a guy as good-looking as this had an equally good-looking wife. Courtney bit her lip as she admired the beautiful, brunette woman in the photo. Was she in hiding somewhere with their child? Or worse yet, were they dead?

The next photo had her stomach doing another little flip. Shayne’s eyes were closed as he pressed a big kiss to his wife’s swollen, very pregnant belly. There was an assortment of baby pictures on the wall. Their daughter was cute as a button, and her heart ached at the love and care in Shayne’s eyes in all the pictures where he held her. She must have been six or seven, judging by the latest photos.

There were several seasonal photos as well. One picture had them dressed up for trick-or-treating. Shayne was dressed as some sort of wizard, while his wife had an impressive pirate getup. Their daughter was adorable in her little combat fatigues. Just like daddy. Another was a Christmas photo. There was an unfamiliar man dressed as Santa Claus. He loosely wore a Santa hat on his head, partially obscuring his dark, black hair. Courtney could make out a few streaks of dyed blue hair mingling with the black, peeking out from under the hat. He could be a brother, but Courtney wasn’t certain.

One photo stood out to Courtney. She wasn’t sure what about it spoke to her. Maybe it was the happiness that radiated from the photo. She was transfixed by those bright blue eyes, crinkled at the corners in a wide grin. Shayne stood in front of Central Park’s carousel with his arms wrapped around the two most important ladies in his life. His daughter was smiling just as brightly. His wife seemed unprepared for the photo – or perhaps didn’t care. She was instead looking up at Shayne with love in her eyes.

On one of the shelves, there was a small award that caught Courtney’s eye. It was an LA Film Festival Award, for Outstanding Performance in the Narrative Competition. She squinted at the engraved name to find _Shayne Zabo_. It had to be a stage name. Courtney made a mental note to look that up when she had the time. He must have been a small-time actor before enlisting.

Moving further along the wall, Courtney found the photos from Shayne’s time in the military. He was dressed up in his combat fatigues, with an arm slung around either shoulder of two men. She recognized one of them as Santa in the earlier photo. The blue streaks in his hair were dyed back to black. In one hand, he was gripping a large bag, and Courtney could make out a small red cross on the side. Santa was a corpsman – a medic. The other man was easily a decade or two older than Shayne and Santa. He didn’t smile for the camera, instead settling to give it a steely, stern look.

There were a few more photos, similar to the first. They all featured a younger Shayne, dressed in his fatigues in some sandy corner of the world or another, alongside his brothers-in-arms. She frowned slightly at the thought. _Younger_. He couldn’t be much older than herself. It was the angry frown twisting his face that made him seem much older than he was that night.

The last photo in the set was an eye grabber. Shayne stood at attention in his dress blues. An older man was pinning a medal to his chest. Said medal was framed in an enclosed case right below the photo. It was a bright gold cross, with a small plaque below it.

“The Navy Cross medal is presented to Staff Sergeant Shayne Topp for extraordinary heroism in the field of battle…” Courtney read aloud.

Courtney continued her exploration as the information swirled around her head. She stopped for a moment at the base of the stairs. A small pair of pink shoes sat by the bottom of the stairs. Another step up was a pair of fashionable flats. And further up was a pair of kickass combat boots. Courtney made her way upstairs.

The fear she had for the mystery shooter had all but dissipated. He wasn’t just a killer. He was a father, a husband, and a war hero. If the photos were anything to go by, his family and his fellow soldiers all loved him. There was only one thing that Courtney could imagine would drive Shayne to go from all of that into this killing machine. This story didn’t end well for his family.

The second floor wasn’t very large. Courtney stopped by the first door. There were numerous notches marring the doorframe. In pencil, she could make out years and measurements. In crayon, she saw a name. Lizzy. His daughter’s name was Lizzy. Courtney allowed herself a deep breath before opening the door to Lizzy’s room.

Shayne and his wife spared no expense to provide her with toys, it seemed. Courtney made the effort to avoid stepping on the plastic dinosaurs on the floor. The dressers were lined with brushes, and miscellaneous knickknacks. Courtney spotted a few framed certificates for academic excellence. This bright little girl seemed to have varied interests. The lamp on her dresser and her bedside were shaped to look like owls. Numerous animal plushies adorned her bed – several were, again, dinosaurs.

Taped to the walls were loads of colorful drawings. Princesses in castles, dragons, dinosaurs, soldiers, you name it, this kid drew it. Courtney smiled at a particular drawing that caught her eye. It appeared to be Lizzy’s rendition of their family, joined by a dog. She had to think for a moment if she saw any food or water bowls downstairs, but upon closer inspection, she realized the dog was Scooby.

A little table was nestled in the corner of the room, and Courtney found herself drawn to it. She eased herself down onto the little plastic stool next to the table. The table was another smorgasbord of her interests. A plastic tea-party was set and ready for play time. Yet the table was guarded by an army of green plastic soldiers, ready to defend the tea-drinkers. There was a children’s book on the table as well. On the cover were a mama bear and a baby bear. It was titled _One Batch, Two Batch_.

“Penny and Dime,” Courtney mumbled. She had a vague recollection of this book. Her youngest brother loved this one. She leafed through the book for a minute before closing it and looking around her.

Courtney could imagine it all playing out before her. Maybe Shayne had to chase Lizzy into bed to get her to sleep, if she was any bit as active as her old man. Courtney could see him scooping his daughter up, spinning her around a few times for good measure. Then Shayne would tuck her in and read her One Batch, Two Batch. Then Mrs. Topp would come in to kiss the little girl good night. The image put a melancholic smile on her face.

It was all so heartachingly ordinary and domestic. She blinked back the dampness that was beginning to form in her eyes. These people were gone. There was no way Shayne would be running around hunting criminals down if his loving family were still around. It just didn’t make any sense. This had to be some sort of vengeful crusade. Those three groups – the Kitchen Irish, the Dogs of Hell, and the Cartel – they had to be involved in his family’s death.

Courtney stood up and began making her way back to the stairs. She didn’t bother checking the master bedroom. Shayne deserved to keep whatever privacy he still had in that regard.

If the Topp family was killed in some gang-related activity – Courtney nearly tripped when she remembered Shayne’s skull x-ray. Shayne was shot in the head and left with a DNR. Somebody really wanted him dead and to stay dead. His family could’ve gotten caught in the crossfire, but she had an inkling it was more complex than that. Getting caught in the crossfire of a gang shootout shouldn’t net you a DNR. Surely some of this whole mess made it to the papers. She could check in at Smosh tomorrow and look through their archives for any sort of mention of the Topp family’s murder.

Before she could think twice, Courtney nabbed the Topp’s carousel photo and made her exit. The drive back to her apartment was a long one, made longer yet by all the information they gleamed today. In the span of a day, the mystery shooter went from a terrifying, unknown man that shot up a hospital to Shayne Topp, the family man and war hero who had his world taken away from him. Courtney couldn’t begin to imagine the pain, the loss that Shayne could be experiencing if all her assumptions were right. She pushed the thoughts to the corner of her mind, for now. She didn’t need to start weeping for him while driving.

Later, Courtney was settling into her evening routine. She was tired, and it was an emotionally and mentally draining day. Just when she sat down on her bed, her phone buzzed with activity rather aggressively. It was a handful of text messages first from Olivia, then Ian, Anthony, Keith, and Noah.

All had the same message: check the news.

Courtney blew out a sigh. She got back up to her feet and returned to her living room. She dug threw the cushions for a moment to locate the TV’s missing remote. Courtney didn’t know what the big deal was. It was probably just going to say that _The Punisher_ blew up another gang hideout or shot up more criminals.

Boy was she wrong.

“Shayne Topp, the gunman wanted in connection with the Metro-General shooting and linked to dozens of recent gangland-related killings throughout Hell’s Kitchen, New York, has been apprehended. As NYPD spokesman says, the city has Sergeant Matt Raub of the 15th precinct to thank for the arrest, after a shootout with Topp and alleged gangsters from the Irish mob’s Hell’s Kitchen arm left over twenty dead, and Topp injured.”

Courtney blinked vacantly at the news. She switched to a different news station to find the same spiel. She switched again, finding more of the same and the use of _The Punisher_ as his moniker. And again, but this time with the casual throwing around of the term _psychopath_. Courtney felt her heart pick up at that as heat filled her chest and an irrational anger washed over her. None of these people had a single clue. There was no mention of his family, or that he got shot in the fucking head, or the fact that he was a war hero. They all thought he was just a lunatic with a gun, but he wasn’t. Courtney may have thought the same earlier, but she was well aware now that it wasn’t true.

Her phone buzzed again with another text from Ian.

****Ian:**** I know you got the crime beat, but I’m letting Tommy handle the “Punisher” arrest. No need for you to worry about spitting out an article tonight. Rest up and enjoy the fact that this guy’s finally off the streets.

Courtney was halfway through typing a furious paragraph in reply before backspacing the entire thing. Tommy was a fantastic writer, but he couldn’t help not knowing the facts about Shayne Topp. Hell, the only reason Courtney knew the facts was because Olivia talked the assistant DA into parting with classified files, and she just broke into Shayne’s house. Legal smooth talking and cloak-and-daggery paired with a misdemeanor weren’t great sources for publishing an article.

So fine, let Tommy handle the arrest article. Courtney had a bigger article to write, once all the facts and information were laid clear. She’d let the world know the real Shayne Topp. Show them that he was more than a vigilante. He was a husband who loved his wife, a father who read his daughter bedtime stories, and a war hero who protected his soldiers. She’d discuss it all with Ian in the morning once her head was clearer. Courtney could already imagine the confused look on his face.

_It’s okay, Ian, we just got classified documents from the DA’s office and I broke into a mass murderer’s house to learn more about him. Anyway, can you help me go through the archives? I’m trying to uncover the conspiracy of his family’s possible murder and the fact he got shot in the head and survived. By the way, I want to use Smosh as a platform to let the world know the truth behind the man that chased after me with a shotgun, because maybe he’s not all bad._

Yes. That would go perfectly.

Courtney retired to bed that night once her frustration subsided for the moment. She drifted off to a fitful sleep.

* * *

Courtney was back in the Topp home, except it wasn’t a decrepit, musty and dusty shell of its former self. It was alive. Lizzie was playing the piano in the living room, filling the home with a happy, homey melody. Her mother stepped up to take a seat next to her. Lizzy’s mother moved with the grace of a dancer, her sun dress flowing as she walked. She gave her daughter that gorgeous smile of hers.

The corpsman was here too, still dressed as Santa and carrying a large drab olive bag over his shoulder. He took his hat off to reveal the blue streaks in his hair. He set his trauma bag down on the floor so he could give the two girls a big hug. Courtney then noticed the older man from the military photos sitting in the armchair. He still wore his desert fatigues and tracked some sand on the hardwood floor, but nobody seemed to care. He raised a glass of whiskey in her direction and nodded in greeting.

Courtney took a step back in surprise at being acknowledged. Up until this point she thought she was just a fly on the wall observing this gathering. That’s when she felt a hand settle on the small of her back. Courtney turned around to find herself face to face with Shayne Topp. His face was void of cuts and bruises, and his bright blue eyes twinkled in the light. He wore a plain pink shirt and some well-fitted jeans. He looked good. Shayne leaned in to press a kiss to her cheek in friendly greeting.

“Hey, Court. Glad you could make it.” His voice was smooth as silk. It was worlds apart from the sandpaper-like coarseness in the voice he used to tell her to stay down and wait for the police.

“Y-yeah. Of course.” Courtney stammered as his hand lingered on her back like she was a dear old friend. Not knowing what to do, she let her hand come up to rest on his sturdy shoulder. The two of them watched his family and friends in companionable silence, allowing the sound of his daughter’s music to fill the air.

“You have a beautiful family, Shayne.” Courtney found herself saying.

Shayne turned to look at her. He smiled brightly then and ducked his head slightly as if embarrassed. When he raised his head back up, he said, “I dunno what I’d do without them, Court.”

Courtney gave his shoulder a squeeze and turned to admire the man, void of injuries and anger and vigilantism. She wondered if this is what the man was like, before it all went down. Courtney immediately regretted the thought. By thinking it, she willed their demise into being. That’s just how much of a shit-magnet she was.

There was a silhouette by the back door of the house, near the kitchenette. He shouldered a rifle and took aim.

“Shayne!”

His name was barely out of her mouth by the time the bullet tore through his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys liked this one! It was fun to write the dive into Shayne's history. I also like Olivia's role in this. I think she makes a kickass lawyer in the making. Also, tada! There's Damien! Stay tuned for his actual appearance. Be sure to drop some kudos and leave a comment, let me know what you think. I love hearing from you guys. I wanna thank you guys as well for bearing with me with this one. It's quite unlike the other things I've written. Rest assured, our two favorite blonde knuckleheads are going to reunite within the next few chapters.


	4. No Judgment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Courtney continues digging for the truth of what happened to the Topp family. Shayne wakes up. Leak and Grossman pursue a high-risk client.

“He’s lucky to be alive,” Courtney said.

Ian’s jaw was slack, his eyes going back and forth between Courtney and the x-ray of Shayne Topp’s head. His mouth closed, then opened again, but the words were lost to him.

“The DA’s got all sorts of information about his victims, but this,” Courtney pointed at the x-ray, “This was in there too.”

“Well what if-”

“No, he didn’t shoot himself, Ian.” Courtney cut him off.

Ian bit his lip and looked around his office for a second before motioning for Courtney to continue.

“Reyes might be trying to cover something up. I did like, just a quick Google search, right? Loads of articles out there, and not one mentions the bullet in his brain, or his _impressive_ military record, or his family’s murder. I mean – think about it, there’s got to be a reason Tower slipped Olivia these files.”

Ian raise a hand up, a deep frown marring his face, “Wait, wait. Hold up. His family’s murder? You didn’t mention that. Is that – is it here in the files?” Ian sifted through the photos and reports on his now messy desk.

Courtney tucked a few strands of hair behind her ear and hesitated. She stepped closer to Ian’s desk and sat down on the chair in front of it. It took a moment of fishing through her purse before she retrieved the framed photo of Shayne’s family. She set it down on Ian’s desk. Ian blinked several times, raising his glasses and leaning in closer.

“I found this.”

“You found this… where?”

Courtney licked her lips and looked away before replying, “I may have broken into his house.”

Ian’s brows all but met his hairline, “Court – what – dude. Are you out of your mind?”

“If that’s what you wanna call wanting to find the truth, then yeah.” Courtney’s answer had Ian sighing before leaning back into his chair.

“The DA released their statement, and it’s full of holes too – all sorts of claims of civilians getting caught in Topp’s shootings, no known relatives, and it all smells like bullshit. Something big is going on here, Ian. There’s some cover up or conspiracy with Shayne Topp in the middle. I’m not a betting gal, but I’d bet my career on this.”

Ian’s fingers tapped against his desk with no rhythm or pattern as he mulled it over.

“That means Smosh is pulling some half-assed journalism too, with all the information that was omitted.” Courtney prodded.

Ian groaned, “Military history was one of the first things I had Tommy check when he wrote the arrest article. We found that he enlisted, but no evidence that he served.”

“I saw his Navy Cross, Ian. It was engraved with his name, awarded to him for his service in Afghanistan.”

“When you broke into his house?”

Courtney scoffed out a chuckle but nodded.

“Okay, maybe the work he did was classified – we can’t verify that so easily just yet. What about his family? You said they were murdered. How do we know like, that Topp didn’t kill them, then shoot himself in the head? PTSD-induced murder-suicide, or something.” Ian gave Courtney a dubious look.

“Because the DA didn’t include it in her statement-”

“ _Now_ the DA’s statement is reliable?” Ian asked with a frown.

“No! Because if that’s what happened, Reyes would’ve included it in her statement with flashing lights. That supports her story that Topp is a psychopath,” Courtney shot back.

“So, you think the three gangs he’s been hitting – they’re responsible for his family’s death?”

“And the DA’s office doesn’t want that coming into the light, for whatever reason.”

Ian was silent for a long moment, eyes scanning the x-ray of Shayne’s punctured skull. After a beat, he looked back up and shrugged.

“So, you and Olivia get classified documents, you break into his home, learn about his family and his career – what’s the endgame here?”

Courtney wasn’t so sure of that herself. All she was sure of was that she wanted the truth, and she told him as much, “I’m not sure yet. I wanna uncover the truth, and I want the world to see it once we do.”

“That’s a tall order, Courtney.”

“It’s just the sort of big-hitting, shit-stirring thing Smosh is known for, don’t you think?” Courtney quirked an eyebrow and gave him a knowing grin.

That did the trick.

“Alright. Shit. If Smosh is gonna go up in flames over something, let’s let it be for proving a government conspiracy then.”

Courtney laughed and suppressed the urge to lean across the desk to hug the man. Ian scribbled down on a sticky note and handed it to her. It was a username and password.

“Use this to dig into the digital archives. Maybe you’ll find something there. I’ve got some stuff I need to take care of first, and I’ll let Anthony know about our project. I’ll tag in later to give you a hand.”

“Thanks, Ian. This means a lot, really.” Courtney took the note and stood up.

“Wait,” Ian called.

Courtney turned back around and gave a half-shrug, “Yeah?”

“What do you think about him? Be honest. I’m just – I’m curious, y’know?” Ian leaned in on his desk as he spoke, “This guy shot at you. You shot him right in the chest. Why do you care so much about this guy’s truth? Last night, when I heard the news, I thought you’d be putting on your hot pants and going to town, time to celebrate, y’know?”

It was a good couple of questions, but Courtney shouldn’t have been surprised by that. Aside from being a hilarious comedian, Ian was also a damn good journalist, who knew what buttons to press.

Courtney thought of those dark eyes in the dim stairwell, towering over her and holding her life in his hands. Then she thought of his kind smile and his loving eyes as he held his wife and daughter. The brotherly love between him and his platoon. Courtney thought of the loss, the endless, echoing loneliness that must have cropped up from having it all ripped away.

“At first… I just wanted to put a name to the face. Find out that he’s human so I could stop being afraid of him. Then I – well,” She laughed slightly, “I can’t claim to know who Shayne Topp is. But I know he had a loving family that was taken away from him. I think that he’s in more pain than you or I could ever imagine. I think that he’s lashing out at the people that hurt him in the only way he knows how. Maybe he needs help, Ian. The DA is going to put him in a hole, and the truth is out there. He deserves to have the truth and this – this cover up or whatever exposed.”

Ian watched Courtney as she gave her impassioned answer, nodding slowly and seriously.

“You think what he’s doing is right?” Ian asked, then raised a hand slightly, “No judgement.”

Courtney thought back to the glint in the moonlight – of the flash of a knife in the darkness of her apartment. She thought of the comforting weight of the gun in her hands, and the shock on her stalker’s face when she pulled the trigger.

The guilt never left Courtney. Taking a life was something she was never proud of. She didn’t take satisfaction in shooting him seven times. But she would be lying to herself if she didn’t take comfort in the fact that he was six feet under, where he couldn’t hurt her or her friends. Some nights, she still thought of what would’ve happened if she stopped after the second bullet plugged into him. Some nights, she thought maybe even that detestable man deserved a second chance. Other nights, she knew she’d spit on his grave if given the chance.

“I may not agree with his methods,” Courtney sighed, “But I can’t deny its effectiveness. This city stinks, Ian. I’m not going to miss Cartel drug dealers, Irish human traffickers, or biker gun smugglers.”

Ian hummed and bobbed his head gently, “I hear ya, Court. Go on now. I’ll catch you later.”

* * *

Whenever things got bad – like, really bad – he saw his wife. Whenever he lost a liter or two of blood, and his corpsmen worked to extract the bullets, or stitch up his cuts, he saw her. He’d be in his dress blues, and she wore that gorgeous wedding gown of hers. In the darkness, they danced together, illuminated by an unseen spotlight.

Shayne wasn’t superstitious; he was anything but. He always figured this was his mind’s way of reminding him what he was fighting for – what he had to stay alive long enough to come home to. It kept his body fighting, and his mind sharp.

After being beaten bloody, shot, and tortured by the Irish, he saw her again. They danced under that same spotlight, but she didn’t smile at him the same. She was sad – sad for him, he could tell. There were a million things he wished to say to her, even if he knew she wasn’t real. Tell her that he’d be fine. He was okay (even if it was a lie). Ask how his baby was doing. Ask how she was doing. His vocal cords seemed to be malfunctioning, because all he could do was watch her graceful steps, and her melancholic smile.

There was a moment he took her by the hand, allowing her to do a little twirl. She spun away from him and out of the spotlight, into the inky darkness. Shayne took a moment to gulp, and step into the blackness. He could hear his footsteps echoing around him. Soon the darkness gave way to a dim stairwell, illuminated by emergency lights.

The blonde woman from the hospital sat before him, cowering and shaking. In his hand, he found her gun that he’d taken. His other hand idly went up to press against his chest. He winced when he made contact with the bruised skin where the Kevlar stopped her bullet. The woman looked up at him, and he found himself frozen in place for a moment by those soulful green eyes.

Shayne’s eyes fluttered open. He squinted through the light as the rhythmic beeping of an EKG machine filled the room. He looked around the hospital room with bleary eyes, which slowly came into focus. He could make out a skittish looking bearded man in a brown suit. Next to him was a Hispanic woman with dyed blonde hair and a dark suit. The two stopped speaking and turned to look at him. The woman uttered something to the man in a harsh, hushed voice, never looking away from Shayne. She stepped out, her heels clacking on the ground as she walked.

The man shuffled some papers in his hands and cleared his throat.

“Mr. Topp, I – I am uh, I’m the public defender that has been assigned to you.”

Jesus Christ.

Shayne closed his eyes and leaned his head back into the lumpy pillows. This guy looked like he was afraid of his own shadow. Shayne tuned his voice out, but not before catching the words _extradition_ and _death penalty_. That was fine. He was tired. He was done. He’d done his best, and it wasn’t good enough. He failed to protect his family and now he failed to avenge them.

As he began to doze off, bright green eyes and tear-stained cheeks cropped back up into his mind.

He really owed this lady an apology.

* * *

Courtney spent hours digging through Smosh’s digital archives. She’d pulled up a digital copy of every issue from within two weeks of when Shayne was shot, based on his skull x-ray. Courtney continued to run her weary eyes over her screen; she had studied each issue probably two or three times now. Her little notebook was filled with notes, chronicling all the dead ends she’d run into.

Olivia called some point during her investigation. She let Courtney know that she briefed Keith and Noah on their digging into Topp’s life. The two were alarmed and gave Olivia an earful over how she didn’t convince Courtney not to break into the Topp residence. Once the initial scolding had died down, they listened more earnestly about their talk with the nurse who watched Shayne come back to life. The two lawyers eventually agreed to keep their ears to the ground as Reyes built her case against Shayne. As much as they didn’t like it, they agreed that the whole thing smelled dirty. Keith and Noah harbored no love for the DA and surmised that Reyes was probably pulling the strings – whatever those strings may be.

In turn, Courtney filled Olivia in on what she knew so far from her trip to Shayne’s home. The family, the military career, all of it. Olivia agreed to relay the information to Keith and Noah once their workload freed up.

It was well into the afternoon when Courtney was tempted to give up. There was no mention of Shayne, or the Topp family. Not even a John Doe that matched his description was reported shot. Courtney decided to take a peek at one of the simpler leads she found last night. It wasn’t bound to get her proof of his family’s death, but at least it would shed a little more light on who Shayne Topp was before this all happened.

She Googled his stage name, Shayne Zabo. Ian decided to make his appearance just then.

He sat on the edge of her desk, nursing a cup of coffee, “Whatcha got?”

A YouTube link to a comedy show came up. Courtney wasn’t sure if it was improv or standup, but she clicked it just the same. Courtney tilted her head to look up at Ian, “Our boy was an actor when he was younger.”

“No.”

“I’m serious,” Courtney laughed, “There was an award in his house, given to this stage name.”

“Well, let’s see it.”

Courtney pressed play and turned the volume up just enough for them to hear it. A younger Shayne Topp, easily fresh out of high school, stepped out onto a stage. He was free of both bruises and frowns. In place of a shotgun, he carried a bright red corded telephone.

“Think he’s gonna use it to beat someone to death?” Ian muttered.

Courtney giggled and nudged him with her elbow, “Shh, he’s about to start.”

Shayne gave the audience a mischievous smile, “Watch this.”

He dialed several buttons, then brought the phone up to his ear, “Hi, Papa John’s? You’re my favorite pizza place.”

He held the phone up to his ear for a second more before putting it down on the receiver without further commentary. It earned a soft round of befuddled laughter from the audience.

“Watch this, though,” Shayne repeated. He went through the motions of dialing once more, then brought the phone back up, “Hi, Pizza Hut? You’re my favorite pizza place!”

The audience laughed again at the absurdity of it, and Courtney found herself giggling along. She glanced at Ian, who was smiling and shaking his head. Shayne went through the movements again and brought the phone up to his ear.

“Hi, Little Caesar’s?” Shayne utterly butchered the pronunciation of the name, and Courtney snorted out loud, “You’re my favorite pizza place!”

“Oh my God, is this his whole bit?” Ian asked rhetorically as he bit back his grin.

Shayne dialed once more and spoke into the phone, “Hi, dad? You’re – what?” The smile on his face dropped.

The audience laughed as Shayne paused and allowed the moment to settle in.

“I thought you and mom were working things out?”

Ian spat his coffee out on the floor and hopped off of Courtney’s desk. Courtney laughed freely, both at Shayne, and at Ian’s expense. He let out a few hacking coughs and accepted a tissue from a nearby staff member.

“Okay, okay,” Ian cleared his throat, “He’s funny, I’ll give him that.”

“Ian, in another life, this guy could’ve been one of us, in front of the camera.” Courtney smiled at Ian. Melancholy began to creep into her smile at the thought. Shayne had talent. He could’ve made a career out of this. Now, he wasn’t going to get that chance. It tugged at her heart far more than it should have any right to. She wanted more for this man than a life behind bars.

Ian appeared to sense the raincloud forming over her head, so he changed the topic.

“Any luck with the archives?”

Courtney blew out a frustrated sigh and tabbed back to the archives, “Not much. No Topp, no nameless man of the same description that got shot. Feels like a dead end.”

Ian tilted her laptop’s screen in his direction and shifted slightly to run his fingers on the trackpad.

“Y’know that old newspaper adage, Cleveland Cleavers?” Ian asked.

Courtney frowned and shook her head. If she were being honest with herself, she was still getting used to the nitty gritty details of journalism. Her transition from in front of the camera to behind it, packing pens instead of microphones, was still a work in progress.

“If something fucked up happens and you can paint the situation as all-American, you got a front pager,” Ian explained, taking the moment to scroll through the archives.

“Topp’s a war hero, a husband, and a father.”

“Exactly. So, if his story didn’t make it online or to the papers-”

“Somebody wanted to keep it quiet…” Courtney finished the thought.

Ian appeared to lapse into thought briefly, before nudging Courtney, “Hey, can I see that picture from earlier?”

Courtney procured the framed photo from her bag, handing it to Ian. His fingers ran across the frame as his eyes studied the picture.

“Court, this carousel… This is the one in Central Park, right?”

She hummed in affirmation, allowing Ian to all but shove the picture back into her hands. He set his mug of coffee down to reach over and scroll through the archives, almost in a hurry. He had something.

“Talk to me, Ian.”

“You remember a couple months back? There was this massacre at the park, by the carousel. Gangs shot each other to shit, it was brutal. No civilians were reported injured, so nobody cared. Our article published a little late.” Ian double clicked a file, bringing the article up to the screen, “Guess which gangs were involved?”

Courtney’s eyes flitted across the screen, “Dogs of Hell, the Mexican Cartel, and the Kitchen Irish,” Her eyes shot up to Ian, whose look was matching her own excitement at the connection, “This is, I mean – this is it, right?”

She picked up the framed photo and raised it up next to the laptop’s screen. The carousels were a match.

“This is it. This is where his family was killed.” There was a small sense of triumph that filled her chest, she let out a soft laugh, “What’s next?”

“Confirm it. Flash a press pass or two, maybe you can speak with Topp himself.”

Courtney was about to respond to that when her phone rang. It was Olivia. She gave Ian an apologetic smile and swiped her finger across the cracked screen to accept the call.

“Hey, Court. Could you swing by the office? Topp’s defense attorney is here with statements he wants us to sign about the hospital shooting. I’m just about to go over mine.”

“Hi, Liv. Yeah, uh – I could, sure.” Courtney answered.

“Cool, cool. See you in a bit.”

Ian, who had been leaning in close to eavesdrop, gave her a thumbs up. “That’s your in, Courtney. Maybe you could schmooze up Topp’s lawyer, get a chance to talk to the man himself.”

“I hope he’s a good one,” Courtney frowned as she got to work packing up her laptop. Her eyes settled on the photo of Shayne and his late family. “He’s gonna need all the help he can get.”

* * *

“Ms. Miller, I drafted this based on the statement you gave to the NYPD,” Mr. Roth, Shayne’s public appointed attorney, explained. He slid a few sheets of paper, bound by a paperclip, across the table towards her.

Courtney picked the statement up. To her left, she caught Olivia’s face scrunching up slightly. When she arrived, Olivia pulled her aside to tell her to read the statement in detail. The statement that Olivia was asked to sign was apparently full of holes and inconsistencies. So, Olivia told Roth that she would wait for Courtney’s arrival before they finalized the statement.

To her right, Noah leaned forward and rested his arms on the table, hands clasped. He appeared to be scrutinizing Roth in great detail. Across from her, Keith was leaning back, arms crossed. She half-listened as they conversationally (if not calculatingly) asked Roth of his history as a public defender.

Courtney soon found that the statement provided to her was full of inconsistencies as well. There were mentions of Topp firing indiscriminately into a crowd, beating Olivia and herself, and more. It took a little restraint to stop herself from just tearing up the work of fiction then and there.

“This your first case, Mr. Roth?” Keith asked.

“Uh, no. Second.” Roth replied in a low voice.

“There’s a couple of, uh – mistakes? Here in this statement,” Courtney interjected.

“Oh?”

“This says here that Topp opened fire into a crowd. That didn’t happen. Both Topp and I waited until the crowd cleared. I fired at him, and then he returned fire,” Courtney began.

“I – uh, I can change that…” Roth clicked a pen and began writing notes on a sheet of paper.

“Also, here it says that Topp pushed me and Ms. Sui down the stairs. That’s not true either. That one was my fault. I tripped and bumped into her.” Courtney motioned with her own pen as she spoke.

Keith narrowed his eyes at Roth, “You say you got this information from the NYPD, Mr. Roth?”

“Yes, that – uh, that’s right.”

“I’m sure I told the police that,” Courtney muttered, before speaking up, “This also says that Topp took my weapon, struck me, and threatened me at gunpoint. He didn’t do that, either. He took my weapon, but he never pointed it at me or hit me.”

“Oh, well, I-”

“And Ms. Sui and I were not Topp’s only targets,” Courtney scoffed, “What about Grotto? That was his main target.”

“Yes, he, uh – he’s on the victims list.” Roth used his pen to point elsewhere on the statement.

Courtney set the paper down and clasped her hands together. They subconsciously went back to rubbing up against one another, to rub away the invisible remnants of Grotto’s blood. She looked at Keith, Noah, and Olivia in disbelief.

“I – uh, I can make the corrections here, and countersign. Then I’d be glad to collect yours and Ms. Sui’s signed statements. Then we’ll be all done.” Roth offered.

“All done, huh?” Noah asked with squinted eyes, and his mouth in a tight, thin line.

“Well, Topp is awake and has shown no resistance. Soon, he’ll plead guilty, and then we’re done here. I know I’ll sleep better knowing Topp is dead.”

Olivia raised a hand up, “Wait, dead? The death penalty is off the table in New York, Mr. Roth.”

Courtney was suppressing the urge to reach across the table to strangle Roth.

Roth hummed, and shook his head, “Not in Delaware. Some Dogs of Hell were murdered out there. DA Reyes will link the killings to Topp, they’ll extradite him, and, well,” Roth clicked his tongue and gestured an injection into his elbow.

Courtney set the statement down before she could accidentally rip it. She brought her hands down to her lap, where she could freely wring them together in frustration.

DA Reyes’ name sparked something in her two avocados-at-law.

“Are you and DA Reyes friends, Mr. Roth?” Keith leaned forward slightly.

“Sound like a couple o’ buddies, hm, Keith?” Noah added.

To Roth’s credit, he put on a brave face, “I met her a couple of times.”

“When?” Noah leaned in as well.

“Well, when the judge assigned me the case, and uh – when we went to the hospital to see if Topp was awake. What can I say? Reyes is taking this guy down, and she’s not stopping ‘til she puts the final nail in his coffin.”

Courtney really wanted to smack this guy up. Instead she slid the unsigned statement across the table. Olivia was quick to return hers as well.

“We’re sorry, Mr. Roth. Ms. Miller and I can’t sign these,” Olivia said with an air of finality.

Noah stood up and opened the door leading out of the meeting room, “We’ll be in touch, Mr. Roth.”

Roth briefly hung his head in defeat, before straightening up to give them a curt nod. He gathered up the unsigned statements and made his exit. Noah waited until the man was out of the office before he shut the meeting room door again. The late afternoon sun shined through the windows, washing the meeting room with a yellow glow.

“That statement was a load of bullshit,” Courtney growled.

“Probably written by Reyes herself,” Olivia nodded. The name seemed to get a rise out of the two lawyers once more. They exchanged looks. Courtney didn’t miss how Keith’s lips curled in displeasure at the sound of her name, or how Noah firmly clenched his jaw.

“Roth is spineless. He can’t defend Topp. Shayne, he – he needs someone that’ll do their damn job, like…” Courtney paused, and her eyes meaningfully met Keith’s, and then Noah’s. “I think I know a couple o’ kick ass defense attorneys.”

Olivia let out a quiet laugh when she picked up on the implication. She wore a fond smile on her face and tapped her pen against the table. She gave a slight shrug.

“Why not?” Olivia asked.

Keith hummed in thought. Noah leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms.

“Reyes could dismantle Leak and Grossman,” Noah reminded them.

“C’mon, Noah. We’ve been wanting a shot to take this bitch down forever. I’d like to threaten to get her disbarred for a change!” Keith said with a grin.

Noah chuckled, “I don’t think two defense attorneys in a run-down office can get _the DA_ disbarred,” He paused, raised his eyebrows a little, and added, “We sure this is a good idea?”

Before Courtney could give an impassioned argument, Keith chimed in, “What about a plea deal? Let’s get extradition and the death penalty off the table.”

“Yeah,” Olivia nodded, “Topp goes to jail. Reyes gets her win. We get to stick it to Reyes by taking the electric chair away. Everyone wins and you two don’t get disbarred.”

“Please, Noah. We could save his life.” Courtney tugged on his arm.

“Need I remind you,” He pointed at Courtney, then Olivia, “And you, that this guy shot at both of you.”

“And this guy looks like he’s in the middle of a conspiracy to cover up his family’s murder,” Courtney leveled her steely eyes on Noah.

Noah sighed, and dropped his head for a moment.

“This Reyes is out there crafting these,” Courtney motioned to the table, where Roth’s statement had been, “These bullshit statements, trying to subvert the justice system and put Topp in the ground. I know you, Noah. You won’t let that happen.”

The man closed his eyes and leaned his head back, letting it bump against the wall with a soft thump. He blew out an exhale and smiled.

“Pack your bags, kids. We’re goin’ to the hospital!”

* * *

Bustling didn’t begin to describe the state of Metro-General. The lobby was packed to the brim with reporters and journalists far and wide, all wanting to speak to Shayne Topp. Security was extra tight as well, with armed police officers in full tactical gear and packing rifles. They weren’t letting the press in. For a while now, Courtney had a little plastic ID that said she was a paralegal working with Leak and Grossman, similar to Olivia’s ID. It came in handy whenever Courtney was embedded with the lawyers while cooking up something for Smosh. This was one of those times.

After flashing their legal IDs and speaking to several nurses and officers, they got Shayne’s room number. After being thoroughly searched (and being told to leave the gun upstairs), they were allowed to board the elevator. They were quiet for the most part, fidgeting slightly, straightening out their clothes, anything to ease the tension. Keith and Noah, after all, were about to meet the infamous mass murderer they heard so much about. Olivia and Courtney were about to come face to face with the gunman that chased them around this same hospital just days ago.

Courtney would be lying if she said she wasn’t at least a little bit afraid. She couldn’t forget those long few seconds where she thought he was going to kill her. But whenever she thought about those agonizingly terrifying moments, she reminded herself that she was spared. Shayne was never going to pull the trigger on her. Courtney did her best to shut out those memories. Instead, she brought to the forefront of her mind the Shayne Topp that she was learning of. Not the angry, armed vigilante, but the war hero and family man.

When she had a difficult time shutting out the visage of his stormy eyes and the loud bark of his shotgun, she thought of her dream. Particularly, the parts before it went to shit. She thought of his easy hand on her back. His soft, undamaged lips pressing a kiss to her cheek. The way her nickname rolled off his tongue like they’d known each other forever. His captivating blue eyes that pulled her in and made her knees a little weak. A part of Courtney almost felt guilty for thinking of this version of Shayne. It felt… private, in a way. Courtney felt like she didn’t deserve to see Shayne from the _before_. Like she hadn’t earned it.

The elevator doors parted, revealing a few more armed officers. Standing by them was Matt Raub. In place of his patrolman uniform, or tactical gear, he wore a simple grey suit, with a badge hanging around his neck. His head turned to see them, and his brows met in confusion.

“What are all of you doing here?”

“Damn, Matt. I am lovin’ the suit.” Keith grinned and reached forward to shake his hand.

“Promotion treating you well? It’s detective sergeant now, right, Matt?” Noah smiled.

“Yeah, it is. Now, you guys gotta skedaddle. Area’s off limits.” Matt gave them a good-natured smile and motioned back to the elevator behind them.

“We have business with Shayne Topp.” Olivia spoke up.

“Business? Business with the half-conscious mass murderer?”

Keith let out an affirmative hum, “That’s right. Leak and Grossman would like to represent Mr. Topp. We’ve met his current lawyer. He, uh…”

“We believe he’s unprepared to represent Mr. Topp’s best interests and isn’t ready for a case of this caliber,” Noah spoke with an air of confidence.

“And you two are?” Matt shot Noah a disbelieving look.

Courtney crossed her arms and watched the exchange. This was the trio’s specialty, and it was always a pleasure watching them work.

“It’s simple, Matt,” Olivia said, “The defender the city assigned is on his knees and ready to help the DA extradite Topp to get the death penalty. We’re here to get him a better deal.”

Matt spared a look at the other officers behind him and stepped closer. With a low voice he said, “Only reason your boy’s alive is because I found him. A shoot-to-kill order was sent down the grapevine the night of the Metro-General shooting. I found him bleeding to death, and I couldn’t shoot a dying man, so I called it in. Now you’re telling me they’re gunning for the death penalty?”

“Someone really wants him dead,” Noah muttered.

“Wait, who placed the order?” Olivia asked.

Matt shook his head, “Dunno. They just said it came from up top.” Matt lowered his voice even more, “Are you guys sure you want to get caught up in all this? It sounds like there’s some big players pushing the pieces around.

“Topp’s just a guy at the end of the day. We gotta stand up for him if no one else will. ‘specially not that punk-ass _public defender_ ,” Keith said.

Matt looked each of them over for a moment. Seeing the solidarity in their decision, he nodded, and waved them over to a few of the other guards.

“We’re gonna search your bags, okay?”

The four of them presented their bags and briefcases for inspection as Matt continued, “Topp is extremely dangerous, but I’m sure you already knew that. Do not give him anything, and do not take anything from him.”

Several officers ran scanners that hummed and whirred along their arms and bodies. Another got to work checking their bags for any weaponry. Courtney’s pistol was removed from her bag. Before she could protest, Matt added.

“You’ll get that back when you leave this floor.”

Courtney pulled her lips into a tight, displeased line, but nodded. The search was concluded, and Matt came to a stop in front of the door, with them in tow. He placed a hand on the door, before speaking up.

“The guy’s still pretty drugged up. He’s cuffed to the bed and strapped down but mind the red tape. You cross that and I’m hauling you out of there, got that?”

After ensuring they understood, Matt finally opened the door and allowed them to step inside. A quiet, steady beeping filled the room, accompanied by the slow drip of IV. The room was incredibly bare, save for two chairs by the door. At the far end of the room sat the hospital bed, the upper half partially raised. Around the bed was a rectangle of red tape.

Courtney let out a quiet breath at the sight of him. Shayne looked like hell. His face was bruised and beaten far worse than the day she last saw him. His nose looked like it had been broken and reset. His foot was in a cast, and slightly elevated. He looked so small and vulnerable in that hospital gown. Almost fragile. It was a far cry from the shotgun-toting man she encountered days ago. She felt that last inkling of fear slipping away.

Shayne’s eyes came open weakly, and with a little effort. He appeared to blink a few times, eyes passing over each of them, until finally settling on Courtney. Recognition crossed his face, and his tongue came out to lick his split lip.

Courtney gulped and found herself unable to break eye contact with the man staring back at her through those tired, half-lidded eyes. Her thoughts raced as she struggled to come up with anything coherent to say. Keith, Noah, and Olivia were equally quiet at the moment, like they were all waiting for one or the other to break the silence.

Finally, Shayne nodded his head at Courtney. With a frown, his voice came out in a grumble, “Ma’am.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Thanks for reading this chapter! Be sure to drop some kudos and a comment to let me know what you think of this one :) Shorter chapter today to help set the stage for the next chapter. I promise that one is beefier. Again, thanks so much for bearing with me with this. Now that we got these two reunited, it gets better from here.


	5. Our Kind of Shitbag

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leak and Grossman pitch their services. Shayne and Courtney open up.

Courtney scoffed under her breath and repeated in disbelief the word Shayne just grumbled, “Ma’am.”

There was a quiet, righteous indignation that bubbled up in Courtney’s chest for a moment. The fact that he chased her around with a gun, shot at her, scared the shit out of her – and then here he was grumbling out a polite _ma’am_ as if that made up for anything. Courtney crossed her arms over her chest and looked away.

Shayne didn’t miss the fire in her eyes and the scoff she let out. He turned his tired half-lidded eyes away from her, choosing instead to settle on Keith, who stood by Courtney’s side, and just in front of Noah. Olivia hung slightly back.

Keith cleared his throat and got down to business, “Mr. Topp, I’m Keith Leak Jr., and these are my associates, Noah Grossman, Olivia Sui, and Courtney Miller.”

There was recognition on his face. Shayne was fully aware of who they were, Courtney gathered. She watched his index finger – his trigger finger, now that she thought about it – tap against the thin mattress. A scowl found its way to his face as he scoffed and turned to glower at Keith.

“Yeah, I know. You clowns protect shitbags.”

Keith’s jaw ticked, before he gave Shayne a shit-eating grin, likely emboldened by the fact the man was handcuffed and strapped down, “Yeah, and you’re just the kind of shitbag our firm wants to represent.”

Shayne’s composure broke with an amused huff. His head ducked for a moment before leaning back against the lumpy hospital pillows. Noah stepped in line with Keith to nudge his elbow into the other man’s ribs. Olivia turned around to reset her poker face. Courtney just grinned. Leave it to Keith to take no shit from anyone, even the big bad Punisher. Shayne gave a slight shrug then, as if to tell him to go on and say whatever it is he wanted to say.

“What my partner means,” Noah cleared his throat, “Is that we’re here to make you an offer. We don’t want your money-”

“Wouldn’t mind getting paid though,” Olivia muttered. Shayne’s lip twitched up in the ghost of a smirk.

“-what we want is justice. What we want, Mr. Topp, is what you want.”

“Yeah? What’s that?”

“The truth, Mr. Topp,” Keith answered, “My man, you’ve been making lots of enemies. Got some in pretty high places too.”

“Yeah. Don’t I know it, counselor?” Shayne muttered, and twitched his banged-up foot for emphasis. It would’ve looked comedic, if not for the circumstances.

“Mr. Topp, the day you were admitted into Metro-General for the gunshot wound you took to the head, a do not resuscitate order was placed on you,” Olivia stated as she stepped forward to stand in line with the rest of the team.

Shayne’s eyes flitted in Olivia’s direction before darting away, like he was afraid of looking the much smaller woman in the eye. His tired eyes settled at the foot of his bed. His interest was piqued just the same, and he nodded, “Yeah?”

“Just a few days ago, a shoot-to-kill order was placed on you as well. Now, the District Attorney’s office is aggressively trying to extradite you to put you on the chair,” Noah said.

Olivia continued, “DA’s office got awfully defensive when we started asking questions about you. We have reason to believe someone in their office has it in for you. The question is why.”

“So, Mr. Topp,” Keith began as he took a few idle steps, mindful of the red tape, “You accept our offer to represent you, we get you a lighter sentence. Throw that death penalty bullshit away. With you alive and not buried six feet under, maybe we can even work together – find out who’s responsible for what happened to you.”

Courtney found herself frowning at Shayne, who was just staring at Keith vacantly with those half-lidded eyes. Here they were, trying to help when nobody else was, and he was all grumbles and glaring and finger tapping. She clenched her jaw to keep herself from lashing out.

“We want you to keep your life in one piece, Mr. Topp. What’s left of it,” Noah spoke up when the silence drew on. It appeared to get a rise out of Shayne, because he scoffed, and levelled his glare at Noah.

“Yeah, like what you did for Grotto, hm?”

This antagonistic asshole.

Courtney unclenched her jaw and dug a hand into her purse to fish out the Topp family photo in front of the carousel. Before going to the hospital, she had the foresight to remove the photo from its frame and slide it into her notepad. It was a precaution in case they got searched and somebody didn’t want the picture reaching Shayne.

Courtney marched forward across the red tape on the ground, ignoring Keith and Noah’s protests. She brandished the photo, bringing it up in front of Shayne’s face. His eyes widened fully for the first time that day as they locked onto the photo.

“You want answers, Mr. Topp?”

Shayne’s eyes flicked up from the photo to look at her. His split lips parted slightly, and Courtney could hear the ragged breath he released.

“Where’d you get that?” His voice was quiet, and his expression was unreadable.

“We won’t get any answers if the DA ships you to Delaware for the death penalty.” Courtney tried not to falter under Shayne’s intense gaze, now that she was under it again. She pushed back the memory of the stairwell, trying instead to focus on the image she had of Shayne from the _before_. Noah grabbed her arm and gently tugged her back away from the line before anyone noticed.

“Where did you get that, ma’am?” Shayne asked again, the emotion now leaking out in his hoarse voice.

Courtney took a deep breath before answering, “From your house.”

Pain crossed his bruised face as an unmistakable wave of hurt washed over him. Shayne visibly gulped and with pleading eyes, asked, “Why were you in my house?”

A voice from beyond the door could be heard shouting in question of who was in the room. Courtney could only guess that was the infamous District Attorney Reyes. She lowered the photo to return it to her bag.

“There are people lying about your family, Mr. Topp.”

It was the last thing Courtney got out before the door swung open with a violent bang. Reyes stomped into the room, with Matt standing helplessly by the door. She tightened her glare at the four of them before yelling, “You four, out! Now!”

Courtney held on to Shayne’s desperate gaze for a moment longer as she stepped backwards. Noah gave her arm another soft pull to lead her out of the room.

Matt stood to the side to allow them to file out. Courtney’s heart raced as she walked. She barely heard Noah’s hurried whisper, telling her to be careful now that they were on shaky ground with Reyes here. Courtney nodded absently and leaned against the wall, facing away from Reyes. Noah, Keith, and Olivia turned to face Reyes, presenting her with a unified front.

Courtney tried to pay attention to the ongoing argument with Reyes, but her mind was too fixated on Shayne. She didn’t expect herself to get so fired up by his apathy and his brushing off of their help. The man was just so… defeated. It was like he’d given up before they even arrived. It made something within Courtney snap to see him so broken and disheartened. Where was the guy that chased her with a shotgun, determination and perseverance in each violent stride?

She tilted her head slightly to try and tune in to the ongoing argument better. There were more threats of burying Leak and Grossman’s firm, and getting the two disbarred. The term _conflict of interest_ was thrown around a few times, before Keith reminded Reyes that there was no more public record of Grotto, or their firm’s link to him. Noah was quick to step up and add that the only breach of legal ethics here was Reyes’. As a prosecutor, she shouldn’t have been here in the first place to speak to the defendant without his attorney present.

“His attorney is in the lobby, on his way up,” Reyes said through a sneer, “If _you_ want to talk to Topp, get his permission first.”

“We have a right, Ms. Reyes, to pursue potential clients,” Olivia replied.

Before Reyes could fire back a retort, Matt cleared his throat, “No need. Topp says he wants Leak and Grossman to represent him.”

Noah looked at Reyes and pursed his lips, eyebrows rising to his hairline, “Thank you, detective. We’ll be in touch, Ms. Reyes.” Noah stepped aside Reyes to walk back towards Shayne’s door.

Courtney couldn’t hold back the grin watching Keith smile mischievously at Reyes as he stepped around her with a swagger in his step, “What can I say, Ms. Reyes? My boy Topp knows what’s good for him.”

Olivia leveled her glare to match Reyes’. She took slow, deliberate steps around Reyes, before pointing her finger guns at the older woman. Courtney stepped up to follow her team, as Reyes began to walk off, muttering under her breath that they were all clowns.

The four huddled up outside of Shayne’s door to discuss next steps.

“You guys sure kicked her butt.” Courtney said with a proud smile.

Noah’s somber voice reminded them, “We painted a big target on our backs is what we did. Reyes is gonna want to bury us more than ever now.”

Olivia nodded, “We’ll play it smart. I’ll get in touch with Roth, get all the case files, evidence summary, charges – then we can review them.”

Keith concluded, “Then we talk to our boy Topp, work out the terms of the plea.”

“You guys make it sound easy,” Courtney said.

“If we work out a plea deal.” Noah shrugged, “Topp pleads guilty, and this doesn’t go to trial, then yeah. It should be easy enough.”

With the plan in motion, they got to work. The entire wing they were in was cleared out as part of the maximum-security protocol to keep Shayne locked in. They were able to find a vacant room to turn into a makeshift office. They spread the files out on the bed, and the one small table in the little in-patient room.

The charges were endless. Fifty-something separate murders, felony assaults, burglary, criminal possession of a weapon, reckless endangerment – Courtney’s head was spinning. Reyes was pulling the strings to expedite the arraignment to trip up Leak and Grossman – give them as little time as possible to prepare. It was scheduled to take place tomorrow night, giving them barely twenty-four hours to prepare.

There was another interesting find, mixed in with all the files Roth turned over. It was a police report, detailing a drive-by shooting. The victims were reported to be an adult female and a female child, killed by small-arms fire at close range inside their vehicle. The adult male driver was reported to be critically wounded and taken to Metro-General. It didn’t take a genius to piece together that this was the story that Reyes was trying to spin on the Topp family’s murder.

When they returned to Shayne’s room, the upper portion of the bed was elevated further now to allow him to sit up. The strap around his chest was loosened to give a slightly larger range of motion. The cuffs on his wrists were replaced with more straps. A tray of food was positioned in front of him, but it was currently untouched. Courtney felt another wave of anxiety wash over her as Shayne’s eyes settled on her the moment she stepped in with the team. He tracked her movements throughout the room, up until she dragged one of the chairs closer to the red tape and sat down.

Noah carried the other chair up to the front to sit down with crossed legs. Olivia leaned on one wall, notepad in hand. Keith took to pacing as he began.

“Now, Mr. Topp. Ya got a lot of charges lined up here. As your lawyers, we gotta be honest with you. This ain’t lookin’ too good.”

Courtney held Shayne’s gaze. At first, she was worried he was going to be upset that she was in his house. But now, he just seemed sedated. Sad, even.

Noah continued for Keith, “As we mentioned earlier, our best bet here is for you to plead guilty, in exchange for a lighter sentence without the death penalty. Are you willing to plead guilty, Mr. Topp?”

The silence drew on as Shayne continued to give Courtney that faraway look. Noah clicked his tongue, and prompted Shayne, “Mr. Topp, since you asked us to represent you, we need you to give us verbal-”

“I’m guilty,” Shayne declared. After a breath, and cutting Noah off again before he could continue, “Not talking to you three.”

Courtney gulped.

“Her,” Shayne’s gaze didn’t waver, “I need to talk to her alone.”

“Mm-mm, no,” Keith interjected.

“Absolutely not,” Noah added.

“Our colleague Ms. Miller isn’t-” Olivia began.

“I’ll do it.” Courtney answered. This was her chance to get the truth.

The three exchanged looks before Keith took hold of Courtney by the elbow to bring her to the back of the room with the rest of the team. Courtney appreciated that they weren’t going to drag their feet now that Shayne was at least willing to talk. Instead of trying to talk her out of it, they handed her the summary of the charges, and instructed her how to proceed. After a few well-wishing pats on the back, the trio stepped out and said they’d pick up dinner for her.

Now that she was alone with Shayne, she took a few tentative steps forward, toying with the clipped papers in her hands. Courtney took a seat on the chair by the red tape. Before she could begin, Shayne broke the silence first.

“What do you know about my family, ma’am?”

Courtney bit her lip at that title he insisted on addressing her as. She shook her head and drew the phony police report they discovered among Roth’s files.

“This is the police report that Reyes is running with. It says here that a single gunman shot up a vehicle using a handgun, killing one woman, and one child. The adult male driver,” Courtney tilted her head in Shayne’s direction, “Was taken to Metro-General for treatment.”

Shayne scoffed and with a sneer said, “No. That’s – that’s a load of shit.”

Courtney nodded, “Thought so. What really happened, Shayne – uh, Mr. Topp… You were at the carousel that day, right? At Central Park?”

Those tired, stormy eyes looked away, settling on the foot of his bed. His jaw clenched, and Courtney could see his neck tense as he visibly gulped.

“I’ve done a bit of digging, and it looks like your family was caught in the crossfire of a gunfight? What do you remember?”

“I got shot in the head, ma’am. I don’t think what I remember counts.” The loss was leaking out in Shayne’s voice now.

“It counts, Mr. Topp,” Courtney stepped forward and over the red tape. Shayne’s glassy eyes turned back to her, “There’s just these pieces of the story everywhere, but you can help put them together.”

Shayne looked up at her for what felt like forever. His trigger finger continued to tap that disjoined staccato rhythm against the sheets. Eventually he blinked, sending a few stray tears down his face as he nodded, “It’s… it’s a mess. Like a bomb went off inside my mind. It’s like, these flashes of memory.”

Courtney pulled her chair closer to his bedside. Close enough that Matt would haul her out of there if she was seen this near him, “Okay. I’m here, okay? I’m listening.”

Shayne’s puffy eyes focused anywhere in the room but Courtney, now that the steely exterior he presented had broken. Courtney’s heart ached for him. That mask of anger and violence was just gone. In its place was this overwhelming grief and loss. This was the man that had his world taken away from him, and now he was a hollow, lonely shell of his former self.

Against her better judgment she reached her hand out and settled it on his shoulder. The contact seemed to ground him back in reality. Shayne blinked a few times, risking a glance at her hand, and then at her face, before looking back away. For someone that put over fifty criminals in the ground, he had real puppy dog eyes. Courtney gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze.

Shayne gulped, and cleared his throat, “Yeah. We were at Central Park. Nicole, she-” His voice cracked, “She was holding onto my arm. I was carrying Liz. We just got her some ice cream.”

“What flavor?” Courtney found herself asking.

Shayne frowned, clearly thrown off by the question, “What?”

“I just – I, uh… I think it’s good to remember the little things too. Not for the case, but for yourself. It’s good to hold onto them,” Courtney’s thumb rubbed a few careful strokes against his shoulder as she spoke.

Shayne nodded, then after a beat, answered, “Cookies and Cream. My girl loved that shit.”

“Yeah?” Courtney smiled.

There was the tiniest quirk at the corner of his mouth when he replied softly, “Yeah.”

Courtney prompted him to continue, “What do you remember next?”

The dark, lost look on Shayne’s face returned, and he turned his head slightly to avoid looking at Courtney. “I was happy. Last time I felt it.” He paused to gulp back the lump in his throat, “I kissed Nicole on the head, because-”

Shayne let out a scoff, “I thought I was so lucky. Piece of shit like me got a girl like that? After everything I’ve done – Iraq, Afghanistan – people like me don’t get that lucky.”

“I failed them, ma’am.” His head swiveled back to level his teary eyes at her.

“No, Shayne. No, you didn’t. You couldn’t have seen it coming.” Courtney vehemently shook her head, and – curse her emphatic heart – she felt a lump forming in her own throat. She’d been to his house and seen the pictures. She’d been to the park. Courtney could picture it all in her mind’s eye perfectly, and it put a waver in her voice.

“I did. I heard it. It was,” Shayne huffed slightly, “You be around guns for long enough, you know the sound anywhere. Some rifle or another, someone was pulling a lever or a charging handle back. The sound was sharp, y’know? Metallic. It’s hard to miss.”

“But I thought, no, it couldn’t be. I ignored it.” Shayne looked away as another tear dripped down his cheek.

Courtney drew her hand back to press against her mouth as she took a deep breath, “Did you see who it was?”

“No. Found out after. Bikers, Cartel, Irish.”

Shayne was quiet for a long moment after that. She didn’t dare look his way. Courtney instead looked down at the papers on her lap and shuffled them together. She needed to get out of here. Give Shayne time to recollect. This was clearly incredibly taxing on him. There was no need to torture him. She could walk him through the questions about the case later.

“My job was to protect them, y’know?” There was another soft crack in his voice, “I didn’t do it. I failed them.”

She sent a hand up to rub at her eyes before the waterworks started. Courtney cleared her throat and stood up, “You know, maybe we should take a break.”

Courtney ran a nervous hand through her hair as she turned around, so she didn’t have to see his heartbroken face, “I’ll come back when you, uh…”

“Stay.”

Courtney was halfway across the room when she came to a stop. She bit her lip and knew she couldn’t say no to that pleading voice.

“Please.”

Courtney sighed deeply. She definitely couldn’t say no to that. So, she turned around, and smiled through her own bleary eyes, and offered, “How ‘bout I go get myself some coffee, then let’s pick it back up?”

Shayne’s tongue ran across his split lips, and he appeared to hesitate before asking, “Could you bring me a cup?”

Courtney raised an eyebrow, “Did your doctors give you a pass on coffee?”

Through the sadness, Shayne managed a small quirk at the corner of his lips, “They won’t know unless you tell on me.”

Courtney chuckled, feeling the tension and the sadness subside in the slightest, “Fine. Be back in a sec.”

* * *

Shayne watched her go. Once she was out the door, he wiped at his eyes and his cheeks with his hands. He looked down at his food. His dinner tray was already cold when it got here. Shayne didn’t really blame the nurses that brought it up. He wasn’t exactly popular around here after he plugged a few holes in their walls and ceilings the other night. He picked up the plastic spoon provided (because he was too dangerous to be given a fork or knife) and stared at the unappetizing gruel.

Shayne only hoped nobody spat in it.

But if he were being honest with himself, he deserved that too.

He gave one last glance in the direction of the door which the woman – Courtney Miller, he reminded himself – exited through; then, he finally dug into the lousy excuse for a meal.

This was the first time he talked about what happened. He didn’t expect said first time to be with someone he tried to scare off with a 12-gauge. The only other time he’d opened up since this all went down was with the quiet moment that he shared with Officer Raub, when he was arrested.

That was a lot shorter, and Shayne didn’t dare talk about his family. Instead, when Raub realized he was too weak to even raise his hands above his head, the officer sat with him. He pressed his hands to Shayne’s shot up torso to help stop the bleeding. Shayne couldn’t remember the moment crystal clear, what with the blood loss and all. What he remembered was asking Raub if he ever felt just _tired_. Then Shayne admitted to the officer that he was done. That he felt like he was all out of fight. Raub was mostly at a loss of what to say, instead telling him to hold on; help was on the way.

But this, with Courtney – Shayne blew a quiet sigh through his nose as he chewed on the gruel – it was something else. Nicole and Lizzy’s names were almost foreign to his tongue. He hadn’t said those names in so long now. He never really thought about it. When they died, he died with them. It was as simple as that. The man he was now didn’t deserve to say those names, so he didn’t. But then here came Atomic Blonde with her hand canon bruising two of his ribs, and prying his chest open with her words and her encouragement to remember Lizzy’s favorite fucking ice cream flavor.

Shayne took a big sip of water to wash down the appalling hospital food. He picked up the cup of shitty off-brand yogurt on the tray and looked it over.

It’s like the nurses knew he hated this shit.

* * *

Courtney returned to the room with two cups of cheap hospital coffee in hand. She went ahead and added a little cream and sugar to her own cup, while she left his black. The ex-military, gruff killdozer types always seemed to be too macho for flavor, or mortal pleasures like milk and sugar. She assumed the same applied to Shayne.

Shayne was digging into his yogurt with a sneer on his face to rival the one aimed at her while she was protecting Grotto. Courtney bit back the smile at the almost comedic sight. The man was picky with his yogurt, it seemed. The yogurt stockpiled in the fridge in his home came to mind. Courtney made a mental note to keep an eye out for the stuff the next time she was out. Maybe sometime down the line, she could bribe him with it for more information.

With a displeased grimace, he set the last of the cup down, and took a swig of the bottled water provided. Courtney stepped closer to hand him the cup of coffee once he finished. Shayne wiped his mouth clean with a napkin before accepting the cup.

“Thanks,” He gently tapped it against her own cup to toast her. Courtney couldn’t suppress her amused frown at the mannerism. Shayne didn’t notice the look. He was too busy nursing the coffee with both hands and taking a deep inhale. It looked almost like a religious experience for him. Courtney took that as her chance to move back towards her chair by his bedside. The chair still sat past the line, and risked getting her thrown out by Matt.

Shayne made a face when he sipped the coffee. He quietly smacked his lips before taking another sip and setting it down on his dinner tray. Courtney caught him glancing up at her before he looked back away. The movement was almost skittish; it was a word she didn’t think was possible to associate with a man like him. His hands fidgeted for a while. His trigger finger resuming its erratic dance, now against the other hand’s knuckles. Just the same, Courtney waited for him to take the lead as he mulled whatever thoughts were going on over in his head. She let the next minute or two tick by as she re-read the questions Keith and Noah wanted her to ask.

“I’m sorry.”

Courtney felt her heart skip a beat at the unexpected sentiment. She looked up from her notes and tilted her head slightly.

“The other night with that shitbag Grotto. I wanted you to know you weren’t in any danger.” Shayne brought his steady gaze up to meet hers. In a way, Courtney already knew that. After everything she learned about him – both about his body count and his life _before_. Hearing it from Shayne himself just confirmed it. The rational part of her brain was telling her she couldn’t just take his word for it. After all he _did_ open fire in a hospital of all places.

“I don’t hurt anyone that doesn’t deserve it. I wanted you to know that.”

She recalled Grotto’s criminal record, which was far less extensive than that of the other dead Irish mobsters. Courtney, forever with her heart on her sleeve, scoffed at that.

“You think that small time messenger deserved it?”

Shayne returned the scoff with his own, muttering _messenger_ under his breath before replying, “I do.” His tone left little room for discussion. He took a swig of his coffee before continuing.

“Is that what he told you? He’s a messenger? He was an enforcer,” The fight was back in Shayne’s eyes as he went on, “Did you know he was a triggerman? Did he ever tell you he once shot an old lady in the head because she saw his face?”

Courtney broke eye contact to cross her arms. Suddenly, her hands didn’t feel so dirty and blood-stained anymore.

“Guess he left that part out, huh?” Shayne paused for her reply, but continued when she filled the silence by sipping her coffee, “How ‘bout when he tripped you to send you and your friend down the stairs? Did he tell you about that? Could’ve broken your goddamn necks going down those stairs, but he didn’t care. He thought maybe you and your friend would slow me down.”

It suddenly made sense. Her foot didn’t catch on a step or what. It caught on Grotto’s own foot. In his dying moments, he apologized to her. At the time, Courtney thought it was just the delirium setting in, but it was for sending her and Olivia down that nasty fall. Courtney grit her teeth. To think she was sorry for that son of a bitch.

“Look, ma’am, the point is, you were safe, okay? If I wanted you dead, you’d be dead. I never wanted that.”

Courtney sighed, “Mr. Topp, why did you ask me to stay? Why am I here?”

The change in topic shut Shayne right up. He licked his split lips and looked away for a moment. The fight appeared to leave him as quickly as it came. The loss and loneliness set back in on his face.

“I… The memories… Can’t make heads or tails of most of them anymore, ‘specially after-” Shayne gulped, and Courtney caught his meaning. “Guess I’m worried the memories will go away for good.”

Courtney felt the lump threatening to return to her throat.

“You were in my house, Ms. Miller.” Shayne trailed off with eyes downcast.

Courtney felt the gears click in her head. The utter lack of signs of life in his house. The viscerally emotional reaction he had learning that she’d been to his home.

“You – you never… after your family,” Courtney paused, “You never went back?”

Shayne shook his head. After a moment, he looked back up at her with those pained, pleading eyes, “Were you in the kitchen?”

“Yeah.”

“The plates… where were they? The sink or… or the rack?” Shayne squinted as he appeared to be struggling to remember the answer.

Courtney thought back for a second, but easily recalled the bright placemats and the elegant plates.

She smiled, “They were on the dining table. The glasses too. You had your coasters out, the uh – the German one, the Canadian one, and one with Scooby-Doo on it.”

The loss in Shayne’s eyes diminished by the slightest bit, and a little smile wormed its way up to his face, “Yeah?”

Courtney nodded, “And your counters, they were just chock-full of cooking stuff. Was that yours or… or Nicole’s?”

She was worried for a moment that she was prying. That she risked blowing the rapport she was building. To her delight, Shayne’s smile widened, and he ducked his head slightly almost to hide it.

“Mostly Nicole’s. I do a bit of cooking but if I touched the emulsifier – Oh my God – she’d kick my ass.”

Courtney giggled at that, and went on, “There was a reading stand too, and it uh – it was a bit much.”

Shayne caught the amused twinkle in her eye, and he smiled, “Why’s that?”

“There was a ripped, shirtless dude on the cover. The title was _The Shredded Chef_.”

Shayne cracked his first toothy grin as he chuckled softly, “Look, lady, I need recipes that keep me shredded.”

Courtney had to bite her lip to keep her laughter under control as Shayne explained, “My wife, she got that for me. It was as a joke, but joke’s on her. The recipes in there were pretty good.”

Shayne looked years younger from the smiling and chuckling alone. It made her heart full looking at him, with his eyes far calmer and more tranquil now; she could just make out the blue of his eyes. Underneath the bruises and cuts, Courtney could see the glimpses of the man from _before_. Smiling was a good look on him. He was a handsome man behind all the damage the Irish did to his face.

“Did you go into the next room? The piano, that was there, right?” Shayne asked.

“Mhm,” Courtney hummed.

“Nicole was, uh – Shit, I dunno – An eighth or a sixteenth part Japanese. She didn’t look it, but one thing that carried over was this love of rice. Lizzy loved the stuff too. This one time,” Shayne huffed a soft laugh, “I had some friends coming over. So, I’m at the back grilling, getting stuff ready. Nicole’s handling the appetizers and the rice.”

“Nicole checks in on me for a while, then when she goes back inside, the fucking rice is gone. The whole rice cooker is gone. After a minute or two, we find Lizzy,” Shayne wore a fond grin on his face, “Her face is just _covered_ in rice. She’s sitting under the piano bench with the rice cooker and she’s going to fucking town on that thing.”

Courtney laughed along with Shayne’s own soft laugh before he added, “That was her spot. Either on top or under that piano bench. She loved taking snacks under that thing.”

A similar story of her own came to mind, which she was quick to share, “When I was a kid, I had a similar track record. I was a _menace_ when it came to the cookie jar. I’d make a deal with my older sister, because she could reach it.”

Courtney admired the growing smile on Shayne’s bruised face as she continued, “She’d pass me the jar if I promised not to bug her. So, we’d have our agreement, then I’d head over to the garage. My dad had like, a little workbench setup there. I think I liked the smell of the WD-40 in the air.”

Shayne snorted a laugh at that and nodded for her to go on, “I’d crawl under there with my cookies and just stuff my face. I’d spend the next hour eating cookies and drawing with these crayons and papers I took with me. My dad would find me like hours later after I fell asleep from the sugar crash.”

“I bet you were a real handful.” Shayne Topp, the terror of New York City, the fucking _Punisher_ , was teasing her.

Courtney grinned and joked, “Yeah, I think that’s why my parents got divorced.”

Shayne’s eyebrows went up and he looked away for a second, “Jesus Christ.”

Courtney got a laugh out of his reaction. When Shayne was done being taken aback by the sudden tonal shift in humor, Courtney continued recounting her visit to his home. “I went upstairs too. On the steps, I saw Lizzy’s shoes. They were bright pink. Then a nice pair of flats. I think they were your wife’s. I don’t think they would’ve fit you.”

Shayne huffed a quiet laugh, “Afraid not.”

“Then I saw a pair of good lookin’ combat boots.”

“Those still there, huh?” Shayne frowned in thought, then shook his head and motioned for her to continue.

“I saw Lizzy’s room. Lots of plastic dinosaurs… drawings on the walls – a lot of those. She had a tea table, some green plastic soldiers. Bunch of awards too, for academic excellence. Lizzy sounded like a bright kid,” Courtney smiled.

Shayne’s own smile seemed to be fading by the moment. His downcast eyes focused back down to stare blankly at his dinner tray.

“I was gone a lot,” Shayne muttered, “Missed a lot of that.”

Courtney continued, hoping to pull Shayne back out from the rut of his own mind, “I remember this like, remote control Humvee too. It was downstairs.”

“Oh my God,” Shayne chuckled, “We got that for her seventh birthday. She drove me crazy with that thing.”

Courtney laughed softly and felt that tug back at her heartstrings. There was that slight twinkle in his eyes, just like in the old photos. You could see just how much he loved his little family, and it broke Courtney’s heart all over again knowing they were taken away from him. She fished the carousel photo out of her bag and leaned over to hand it to Shayne.

“Shayne, maybe it’s not in my place to say,” Courtney took a breath, “But your family clearly loved you, very much.”

Shayne gulped visibly and took it with a hesitant hand. His wild eyes darted to the photo, away, and then back again. It was like it pained him to even look at the picture.

A knock came from the door, and it opened before Courtney could scoot her chair away from the line. Matt peeked his head into the room. His lips tightened into a displeased line at the sight of her over the red tape, and he tilted his head as if to say _really?_

Instead of giving her shit, he just told her, “We got orders to not let any visitors, legal or otherwise, see Topp past 8PM. You got five minutes, Courtney.”

Matt shut the door before she could complain. Courtney frowned. This had Reyes’ stink all over it. It was another ploy to give them as little preparation time as possible.

“I guess we should wrap up,” Courtney said.

Shayne set the photo down to look at Courtney, “You tell your lawyer boys I’ll answer their questions in the morning.”

Courtney nodded. This was good. This meant she didn’t need to mediate and pretend she knew what she was doing with the legal stuff. Courtney packed the papers back into her bag. She stood up then and crossed her arms, unsure how to end their conversation.

“Thank you, ma’am.”

Again, with the _ma’am_. Courtney gave a polite smile and asked, “What for?”

“You helped me remember,” Shayne gave her a serious look, “I won’t forget that.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Could I… ask you to do something for me? If it’s not too much.” Shayne was looking away again. He never seemed to be able to hold eye contact with her for long when it was over something that made him emotional.

“Yeah?”

“When they brought me in, they, uh – they took my ring, along with anything else I had on me. My wedding ring. When my foot’s healed and they wheel me out of here, I know I won’t be able to keep it. I was hoping maybe you could look into it? Maybe pull some strings with your lawyer friends? Hang on to it for safekeeping? I just…”

Shayne swallowed and said, “I don’t want some asshole cop to pawn it off, y’know?”

“Yes. Of course, Shayne. I’ll – I’ll handle it. Don’t worry.” Courtney resolved that she would. It would be her top priority in the morning.

“Thank you, ma’am.”

Courtney raised a hand up in protest, “Shayne, you’re like – what, three or four years older than me? Just call me Courtney.”

Shayne chuckled softly, “Okay,” He had a distant, faraway look in his eyes for a second. The look turned into a kinder, fonder one shortly after. Courtney swore his blue eyes twinkled like sapphires when he added, “You know, I think my family would’ve liked you, Courtney.”

If the heartfelt sentiment wasn’t going to make her teary-eyed, his face was. It was a combination of so many emotions that Courtney could only try to name. Loss, grief, longing, mixed with this melancholic hope. Instead of dwelling on it, she made her exit before she started weeping in front of the man.

Courtney smiled and headed for the door, “Good night, Shayne.”

“Night, Courtney.”

She collected her gun from Matt before taking the elevator down to the lobby, where she bumped into Keith, Noah, and Olivia, takeout in hand. In the cafeteria, Courtney explained that Shayne wasn’t being allowed visitors past 8PM anymore, likely due to Reyes’ meddling. She also mentioned that while she hadn’t been able to bring up the questions, she was able to build rapport with Shayne. She also gave the good news he agreed to answer their questions directly tomorrow.

Courtney gave them the barebones summary, about him confirming the carousel massacre, and him opening up a little about his family. She kept all the details to herself – the stories, the laughs, the occasional teasing. Courtney felt that was more private and reserved for herself and Shayne.

They went over their current plan together before they called it a night. Keith would investigate the Delaware killings, because they noticed the evidence appeared circumstantial at best. Noah would talk to Reyes and negotiate for a lighter sentence. Olivia would get in touch with Assistant DA Tower about the developments and set up the arraignment. Courtney mentioned Shayne’s request, and they suggested she check in with Matt tomorrow since he was the arresting officer.

Courtney was exhausted when she got home. She investigated the Topp family’s murder with Ian. She nudged Leak and Grossman to take on Shayne as their client. She confronted the man that chased her around with a shotgun and found he really was just a sad, broken man after all. She listened to Shayne spill his guts to her. All in all, it was a hell of an eventful day. She figured she could update Ian tomorrow. For now, she just wanted to pass out.

Courtney fell asleep easily enough that night, with all the activity finally catching up to her.

* * *

She found herself in an open space, standing on a brick path. The sun beat down, and the earthy smell of the grass around her wafted up to greet her. She realized quickly that she wasn’t alone. Looking down, she saw Lizzy. She had her dark blonde hair tied up and wore a dazzling smile that made her look like a flower in bloom. She held onto Courtney’s hand like she was a dear and trusted family friend. In her other hand, Lizzy was licking an ice cream cone, white and speckled with black.

Courtney felt her heart skip a beat as it began to sink in. The ice cream. The park.

Her head turned up and she could see Shayne and Nicole hand in hand, walking to meet them. Nicole was wearing another sundress which made her look as radiant as she appeared in the photos. She brushed her dark hair back and waved a hand in greeting. Shayne wore a plain white shirt, jeans, and an easygoing smile. He walked with calm, proud strides; not a limp or bruise in sight. Behind them, Courtney could see the carousel.

Nicole walked up to Courtney first and pulled her into a tight hug reserved for the best of friends. Lizzy let go of her hand to run up to Shayne.

“Hey, hot stuff.” Nicole grinned as she pulled back, “You guys found the ice cream cart no problem?”

Courtney gulped back the lump in her throat and gave her best carefree smile, “Y-yeah. Lizzy’s an angel,” She laughed to cover up the crack in her voice, “I wish all kids behaved as well as her.”

“Wait ‘til you tuck her in,” Shayne muttered, before easing a warm hand onto Courtney’s hip to gently pull her close. He was all bright smiles and shining blue eyes. He pressed a kiss to her cheek in greeting, “Hey, Court.”

Courtney wrapped her arms around his neck to keep him in place. As if it would stop him from leaving. As if it would save his family. The tears were streaming down her face now. She knew what was coming.

Shayne stiffened slightly in surprise, but then chose to lean into the hug. Courtney all but pressed herself deeper into him. She focused on his steady, warm breath against her neck, and the soothing hand he ran up and down her back, “You okay, Court? What’s wrong?”

_Don’t go out there_ , she wanted to say.

“Yeah,” Courtney sniffled. She turned her head and placed a tender kiss of her own onto his cheek, “I’m okay.”

When Courtney reluctantly pulled back, Shayne was smiling fondly at her like he couldn’t see her tears, “Someone’s clingy.”

Courtney’s laugh came up with a sob, and she brought a hand up to stifle it.

“C’mon. Carousel’s waiting.” Shayne turned back to his family. He brought Lizzy up to carry her with one arm. Nicole wrapped herself around his other arm. Shayne placed a kiss to the side of her head, and they began to walk.

Courtney watched them through blurred eyes as Shayne appeared to miss a step as he walked. His head turned once or twice, appearing as if he’d heard something. He brushed it off then and continued.

She wanted to run up to them, push them down. Yell – warn them, do _something_. Courtney found herself rooted to the spot; her sobs were now as silent as the grave.

Courtney could only watch in horror as gunfire engulfed the family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We got a long boi today! This was a heavy one to write. I may or may not have gotten choked up writing the dream. I also discovered I *love* writing Keith. The man just oozes swagger, it makes him so fun to write. As of this note's posting, I'm one chapter ahead in my drafts, and it's looking well. If the quarantine over here keeps up, I don't expect my pace to change all too much. I don't have much better to do other than writing. Don't forget to leave some kudos and drop a comment if you've enjoyed finally seeing Shayne and Courtney's reunion :) Have a good day now.


	6. (Not?) Guilty, Your Honor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leak and Grossman work towards a lighter sentence. Shayne and Courtney form a bond.

Courtney swore she was going to check herself into a mental hospital at the rate these dreams were hitting her. Waking up grabbing for her gun was one thing – hell, there was almost a sense of routine to the familiar motions. It was another thing to wake up with hot tears stinging her eyes and a deep sadness piercing her heart. Along with the dreams came a difficult to place feeling which rumbled in her gut. The closest Courtney could compare it to would be guilt.

She didn’t deserve to see the Topp family like that. Who was she to them? A nobody. To dream about Lizzy holding her hand, Nicole hugging her tight, and Shayne kissing her on the cheek – it was absurd. It was dirty. Courtney had no right to peek into their lives before they were snuffed out all too soon. She had no right to see them happy and content and insert herself into those dreams. Courtney scrubbed a frustrated hand across her tear-streaked cheeks that morning. It was going to take a lot of effort to push the damn dreams out of her mind when she went to see Shayne today. The man just _had_ to go and tell her that his family would’ve liked her.

There was no going to sleep after a dream as visceral as that, so Courtney shambled out of bed just as the sun was barely up in the sky. She took the time to make herself a small breakfast with what little stock of food she kept. Courtney seldom woke early enough to have a full morning routine like this, so she never bothered filling her refrigerator and her pantry for it. Courtney prepared a sandwich for lunch as well with whatever she had left. She’d be able to eat it in the room while she gave Shayne the update on his ring.

When the clock ticked by to a more reasonable time, she called Ian and Anthony up to run them through yesterday’s happenings. Just as she did with Keith, Noah, and Olivia, she omitted the more personal, nitty gritty details.

“You make him sound like a scared little puppy, Court.” Ian’s voice came from over the phone.

“Not like a guy that could kill you with a telephone cord.” Anthony agreed.

Courtney sighed. She tucked a leg underneath her and shifted to get comfortable on her sofa. Courtney spared a glance out the window to look at the barely rising sun. She sipped from her morning coffee before replying, “Well, you try sitting in the room while he spills his guts. He’s… lost. Broken.”

“Okay, anyway…” Ian paused, “Stay with it, I guess. After the arraignment, this is all over. You guys sure Topp’s going to plead guilty tonight?”

Courtney swirled the coffee in her mug for a moment in consideration, “Keith and Noah seem to have him convinced it’s the best bet.”

“And what do you think?” Anthony prompted her.

A guilty plea deal meant that Shayne would hopefully stay alive, so Courtney was all for it. She didn’t like the idea of negotiating and settling with Reyes, but it appeared to be a necessary evil. Yet a nagging doubt lingered in Courtney’s mind. The DA’s office clearly had it in for Shayne. If they rolled over with a plea deal to send Shayne to jail alive, he wouldn’t be for long if he was put in general population. Not to mention avoiding a trial meant the DA would have all the time and resources in the world afterwards to mop up and clear all connections to wanting Shayne dead.

Courtney gave a displeased groan in reply, “I’m worried a plea deal might mean we lose our shot. The people responsible for what happened to Shayne’s family might slip away. No use having more time to talk to Shayne and put the story together if they get more time to sweep it under the rug too.”

Ian hummed in agreement and said, “I hear ya, Court. Either way, keep your ear to the ground. I think it’s about to get interesting.”

Courtney chuckled, “This whole mess not interesting enough already?”

“If you find out DA Reyes is two little aliens in a trench coat, I think that’ll be interesting enough,” Anthony said.

“Oh yeah,” Ian agreed, “Nothing like some UFO talk to get our numbers up.”

Courtney allowed their collective laughter to die down before she recalled her other reason for contacting them, “By the way, I need a… favor from Matt.”

“What’s with the ominous pause?” Ian asked, “Are you two touching butts?”

Courtney’s face scrunched up, “What the fuck, boss?”

She had to yet again wait for both Ian and Anthony’s cackling to subside before clarifying, “Shayne’s personal effects were taken when he was arrested. He’s asking me to take some stuff back – hold on to ‘em for safe keeping.”

“Matt was the arresting officer, right?” Anthony hummed, “You know that little family run grocery a block from the studio? Grab a box of cigars – the ones with the red packaging. His mom loves those.”

Her eyebrows raised, “His mom? We’re bribing his mom with cigars?”

“We’ve been doing it for years,” Ian said. Courtney could picture the nonchalant shrug he was probably giving as he added, “The lady’s gonna outlive us all, Court. Don’t worry. Works every time.”

Courtney knew better than to argue with Ian and Anthony’s sketchy yet allegedly effective tactic. They’d been in the game far longer than she had, after all. After hanging her head in shame for a moment over the fact she was going to supply a senior with cigars, Courtney conceded. She promised she’d report in again soon and got ready to set out. She threw on a skirt and a nice blouse; she kept her colors neutral. It wasn’t her usual wardrobe, but she typically dressed this way when she embedded with Leak and Grossman. It made her appearance as the second paralegal more believable.

The morning traffic was just beginning to kick in by the time Courtney arrived at the grocery. It was more bodega that grocery, really. There was the faint scent of must in the air, like cardboard drenched in rainwater and left out to dry. It was well stocked and was quite larger on the inside than you might guess while walking by it. It didn’t take Courtney long to find the red packaged cigars that Anthony mentioned.

Before heading to the counter, a thought occurred to her just then. Courtney doubled back over to the chillers they had and peered through the glass displays. Already knowing what she was looking for, Courtney located her target quickly. She opened the display and grabbed a cup of strawberry flavored Macrogurt. Shayne was going to love this.

It wasn’t until she was walking back to her car that she was able to wipe the dumb smile off her face.

Metro-General was no less busy this morning. The press was doing their darndest to convince security to let them through, but they weren’t budging. Courtney flashed her employment ID for Leak and Grossman and explained she was an assistant for Topp’s lawyers. She was then patted down, and her bag was searched.

The officer inspecting her bag was a tall, dark man with glasses, wearing full tactical gear. Similar to the others, he had his rifle slung over one shoulder. Upon finding her .380, he pursed his lips and nodded to himself. It was as if he was impressed that she, the unassuming 120-something pound woman, was packing heat.

“Nice piece, ma’am,” He said, “Please check this in with Detective Sergeant Raub on Topp’s floor.”

“Thanks, Officer…” Courtney scanned his uniform, but saw no tag. He was in combat gear after all, and not his patrolman uniform.

“Martin,” He gave a polite smile as he tucked the gun back into her bag and extended it for her to take. “Have a good day, ma’am.”

Courtney returned the smile and took her bags with a grateful nod. She boarded the elevator and soon arrived on Shayne’s floor. Two officers stationed in the hallway turned to her, but were quickly waved off by Matt.

Matt nodded at her as he stepped past the two, “Rest of the circus is already in.”

Courtney chuckled at the term and walked forward to meet him. She began fishing around her bag as she spoke, “I got something for your mom.”

Matt’s brows all but reached his hairline, “What the fuck? Not you too. Did those two clowns put you up to this?”

Courtney withdrew the box of cigars and raised one hand in surrender, “Well, yes, but also no.”

“What does that mean?” He squinted, “You guys are turning my mom into a chimney.”

“Hey, if she doesn’t get them from Smosh, she’s gonna get them from somewhere else, man.” Courtney did her best impression of Ian’s nonchalant half-shrug.

After a beat, Matt sighed and took the carton of cigars, “What do you want?”

Courtney took a step closer and inconspicuously peeked over his shoulder at the two officers. In a low voice she answered, “When you caught Topp, the personal stuff he had on him was taken, right?”

“I don’t think I like where this is going, Courtney.” It took a pout from Courtney to get Matt to continue, “Yeah, but he didn’t have much. We took his gun – which he probably took off a dead Irish guy. He had, uh… a wallet with some bills. The clothes on his back. The guy wasn’t big on personal stuff.”

“What about his ring, Matt? His wedding ring.”

Courtney could see the recognition flash across Matt’s bearded face. He nodded, “Yeah. For sure. Topp was shot, cut, and beaten to shit when we found him, so we went straight here. We took his stuff in the emergency room, but I had it sent back to the precinct. Evidence, and all that.”

Before Courtney could add, Matt guessed her request, “You want me to get hold of his ring? You know we can’t give anything to the guy.”

Courtney shook her head, “No, I’ll hold onto it for him for safekeeping. He said he just wants it out of the system.”

Matt looked at the carton of cigars in his hand and then finally nodded, “Yeah, I can arrange it. It’s a tiny thing. No one will notice it missing.”

Courtney bit her lip as she remembered Shayne’s pleading of how he didn’t want it to be sold off by some prick.

“Matt, get someone you can trust, okay? I don’t want some asshole getting his hands on _the Punisher’s_ ring and – I dunno – maybe losing it or selling it or fucking around with it because, _oh, it’s the big bad Punisher’s ring, fuck that guy._ ” Courtney wore the concern plainly on her face.

Matt gave a small smile, “The station is split in half by this guy. Some say he belongs in jail; some say he’s making the streets a safer place. I can ask one of the more sympathetic guys. Maybe Martin. He gets off babysitting duty downstairs later today.”

“The guy with the glasses?”

“Yeah, that’s him.” Matt confirmed.

Courtney nodded, “Nice enough dude.”

Matt hummed in agreement. He took a small step back to return to the other officers so they could get her through security. She placed a hand on his arm to stop him. There was a question on the tip of her tongue.

“So which side are you on?”

Matt glanced once in the direction of the room Shayne was in. The answer came out easily, “Bit of both. Murder is murder, but I’m not gonna miss those assholes he put in the ground. We can’t deny that criminals around here are thinking twice now. Scanners have been a little less noisy since he showed up. Kinda worried they’ll feel bold now that he’s detained.”

Courtney gave a thoughtful hum before Matt added, “And when I arrested him – or y’know, if we’re being honest, found him… He was just a guy. Topp was bleeding to death and he gave me this look. I read the reports, so of course I thought he was all shooting and killing and _punishing_. But Topp looked…”

“Lost?” Courtney offered.

“Yeah,” Matt frowned, “Lost and tired and beat. You could’ve told me he was a survivor of the Punisher’s attack and I would’ve believed you.”

Courtney couldn’t imagine what Shayne looked like the night he was arrested. There were photos online and in print, but none were close enough to the scene to see his condition. His current state was an indicator of how bad it was. It made her heart ache.

“C’mon. Let’s get your bags checked. You tell those three to keep him off the chair, okay?”

Courtney smiled and fell in step with Matt to approach the officers, “Can do.”

Matt casually set the carton of cigars on the far end of the table they were using to inspect the bags. The two officers glanced at it curiously but said nothing. Her gun was extracted from the bag and set aside. The first officer pulled out her sandwich, wrapped up to go. The other pulled out the Macrogurt. She heard him muttering the brand name and tagline under his breath. His face scrunched up slightly.

Matt raised an eyebrow at Courtney.

Courtney shrugged innocently, “I get snacky.”

The officers exchanged looks with Matt, who shrugged and motioned for them to put it back in. Once that was over, she was cleared to continue on into Shayne’s room. As Courtney reached for the door, it swung open, and Olivia nearly bumped into her.

“Oh, hey!” Olivia grinned.

“Hey, mornin’. Early start?”

“Yeah, we figured we’d come early before Reyes decided Topp wasn’t allowed visitors past 4PM other than the arraignment or whatever.” Olivia explained.

Courtney scoffed, “Yeah, wouldn’t put it past her.”

“Tell me about it. Anyway, we’ve gone through most of the charges now. By noon we should have a pretty good idea of the deal we’re gunning for. Keith’s confident he can get the death penalty off the table once the cops in Delaware get back to us about the evidence linking him to the bikers there. Noah expects Reyes’ backup will be a truckload of life sentences.”

Courtney gave a big nod of her head as she took it all in. She fumbled with her notepad for a moment to scribble down some of the pertinent points raised.

Olivia continued, “Once we’re done talking to Shayne later today, we’ll figure out the deal. The boys are confident we can get parole in there some time down the line.”

Courtney smiled as Olivia wrapped up, “That’s great, Liv. I’m happy to hear some good news for a change.”

“Right? I’m just gonna grab us some coffee, want some?” Olivia jerked her thumb in the direction of the drink machine down the hall.

“Maybe a little later. Thanks, though.” After a second, Courtney added, “Grab Shayne a cup.”

Olivia huffed a small laugh, “He already placed his order, don’t worry.”

It was a good sign. It meant he was communicating with them beyond grunts and glares.

“How is he?” Courtney found herself asking. She hoped the concern and interest wasn’t too plain on her face.

“The meds have mostly worn off, so he’s a lot more awake now. He’s pretty… docile. Hard to believe he’s the guy with the gun from that night.”

Courtney nodded in agreement as Olivia continued.

“He’s not chatting us up or anything though. I think only you got that privilege,”

Courtney felt the slightest heat in her cheeks.

“He still looks miserable most of the time and I can’t blame him. But he’s totally cooperative.” A light appeared to go off above her head, and Olivia added, “I almost forgot. He apologized earlier.”

“For chasing us and shooting at us?”

“Yeah, he almost looked embarrassed to bring it up when Keith and Noah stepped out. But I could tell it took a load off his chest when I said it’s all in the past now. Who knew the fucking _Punisher_ was this human?”

Courtney shook her head fondly but found herself in agreement, “Our boy Topp is just a guy at the end of the day.”

Olivia slipped past her then to make her way down the hall. Courtney cracked the door open and tried to make her entry as silent as possible to avoid disrupting Keith and Noah while they were working.

Keith and Noah sat on the two chairs just by the red tape on the ground. As usual, they looked so distinctly on brand. Noah was in a tan suit, and had his legs crossed as he worked through the files. Keith was in a blue suit, and had the chair pulled up backwards so he could rest his arms on the backrest.

“…with a baseball bat. That right?” Keith had just finished saying.

Shayne hummed in agreement and nodded at the man. Just as he did, he noticed her entry. The corner of his lips tugged up in a subtle smile. Courtney blinked back the thought of his lips pressing to her cheek in greeting. Shayne looked better today. Well, physically, the bruises and cuts hadn’t changed a whole lot. But he looked more well rested. His half-lidded dead gaze was replaced with a calm, neutral one. The bed was once again set up to allow him to be more upright as he spoke to the lawyers. His empty breakfast tray was just to the side. Similar to last night, a strap ran across his chest, and both his hands were cuffed to the bed’s railings.

“Morning, Ms. Miller.” Shayne greeted. It prompted the two defense attorneys to turn and greet her as well.

Once that was out of the way, Courtney chose a wall to lean against and drew her little notebook once more. She didn’t need to take notes as deliberately and dedicatedly as Olivia did. Olivia took notes to support the two directly. Courtney took notes that would be pertinent to writing this story once it was all over. She made sure to use a red pen to put little ticks next to certain notes. Of course, Courtney wasn’t officially employed as a paralegal. She didn’t have the same attorney-client privilege that Keith, Noah, and by extension, Olivia had. Courtney had been embedded with the trio a handful of times now. She knew what was and wasn’t kosher to report.

Time went by as they discussed each charge to get a better idea of what they were dealing with. Olivia eventually slipped back in, distributed their coffee, and resumed taking notes; she occasionally chimed in to ask a question or give input. It was easy to tell the trio was moving at a fast pace. In the past times she’d embedded with them, she found them to be very thorough and meticulous. But with over a hundred different charges, including the fifty-six murders, and less than twelve hours to go until the arraignment, they had to make do.

Courtney liked to watch Shayne while he talked. He mostly confirmed information relayed to him, or occasionally corrected them. A few charges and cases needed him to clarify what happened. It was how Courtney learned of the few Shayne put in the ground that weren’t directly tied to the gangs in the carousel shootout. One such instance was a pawnshop owner that sold child pornography. Shayne caved his skull in with a baseball bat after purchasing a police scanner from him (which was also illegal). When he talked about that, his face hardened, and his trigger finger’s incessant tapping returned.

Other cases had him visibly ease up a fraction. In pursuit of the Irish, he broke up an underground dogfighting ring. That was how Courtney learned that Shayne loved dogs. After placing an anonymous 911 call to find the crime scene and rescue the dogs, he found a sweetheart of a Pitbull with a hurt paw. Shayne confessed to taking the dog to his base of operations to patch up the paw and care for him.

“Base of operations?” Noah raised his eyebrows.

Shayne shrugged, “Well, saying apartment makes it sound like a place I rent with a real name.”

“What happened to the dog? Should we like… tell the cops where your lair is,” Olivia ignored Shayne’s mildly offended face at the term, “So they can take it to a shelter?”

“Won’t be necessary, I think,” Shayne said, “Irish found Max – the dog – and my base the night I was arrested.”

Shayne paused. His face, previously at-ease as he talked about caring for Max, shifted. There was that longing again. “Cops probably picked him up where I was arrested. Took him to a shelter.”

Courtney made a note of that. She might be able to talk to Matt about that. Surely it couldn’t be too hard to track the dog down from there. Courtney devised her plan as Keith guided the discussion back on track to relevant ground.

Later, a nurse’s arrival with Shayne’s lunch tray signaled it was noon. Keith and Noah took that moment to stretch their legs after all the time they spent seated.

“What’re we lookin’ at, boys?” Courtney asked, now that they had a better picture of all the charges.

Keith and Noah exchanged a look, then turned their attention to Olivia, who was still scribbling notes away. The two lawyers shared meaningful grins.

“Hey, counselor,” Keith addressed Olivia, “Conclude the morning session for us, please.”

Olivia’s head shot up, and she looked at her two colleagues with a little surprise. She gulped, nodded, and ignored the slight flush in her cheeks.

“Based on everything we got here so far…” Olivia took a breath, “First, Keith is going to follow up Delaware for confirmation. But that’s already a sure point for us. Considering we get the death penalty off the table with that, we can assume that Reyes is going to gun for three or four life sentences without parole. Definitely gonna put Topp in gen pop, too.”

“Noah is going to meet with Reyes,” Olivia nodded her head at the man, “He’ll present the weak Delaware link, and negotiate the life sentences. With everything we got here, I think we can negotiate for one life sentence with the possibility of parole in… twenty to thirty years. We’re also going to fight for protective custody, since putting Topp in the general population won’t end well.”

“For them,” Shayne muttered. It earned an amused snort from Keith.

“I’ll get in touch with the Assistant DA and the judge. Make sure everything’s set up for tonight.” Olivia tapped her pen against her notebook, then looked up, “I think that’s it.”

“That’s our girl,” Keith gave Olivia an overenthusiastic pat on the back.

“Good job, Liv,” Noah grinned, then added, “I’m gonna get going and meet Reyes. Stay with Keith to make sure we got every nail in Delaware’s coffin?”

“For sure.” Olivia answered.

“We can handle that in the cafeteria before or after lunch,” Keith said, “But lemme tell you: I can’t wait for them to say it. I’ve got these guys right where I want them. It’s like…”

Keith struggled with his analogy, hands motioning in the air, “I got ‘em…”

“Pinned down?” Shayne offered.

Keith clapped his hands together and pointed a finger at Shayne, “That’s my military boy Topp.”

Shayne leveled his neutral gaze on Keith, but the little quirk at the corner of his lips was hard to miss.

“You coming with?” Olivia asked Courtney.

“Oh, I packed a sandwich. Got a couple of things to go over with Topp, so I’ll catch you guys later.” Courtney answered. Shortly thereafter, one of the officers filed into the room. He uncuffed Shayne’s hands, replacing them with more straps, then loosened the strap on his chest further. Just enough to reach the lunch tray, but barely much beyond that.

Courtney scooted the chair over to his bedside and sat down.

“I hope it’s not too soon to ask, but any luck with the ring?” Shayne inquired as he watched Courtney dig through her bag for the sandwich.

“It’s uh – in motion,” She smiled, “I hope to have it by the end of the day.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” Shayne caught the look Courtney threw his way, “Courtney. Sorry.”

Courtney giggled at the slightly embarrassed expression on his face. He held back a chuckle of his own and shook his head. Instead, he straightened up to start eating. As he did, a pained look flashed across his face, and one hand came up to press against his chest.

“You okay?” Courtney was already on her feet and approaching his side. “Should I call the nurse?”

“Nah, it’s nothing,” Shayne grunted, and shifted a little to get comfortable. “I’m fine.”

Courtney gave him a dubious look.

“My ribs here,” He motioned to his chest, “Haven’t been feelin’ too hot ever since you plugged me with that hand canon.”

Courtney placed a hand over her mouth to conceal her grin. It was no use because she ended up laughing at his expense when he rolled his eyes at her.

“Well that’s what you get for being an asshole and chasing me around with a shotgun,” Courtney said matter-of-factly, and returned to her seat to unwrap her sandwich.

“Yeah, I deserved that.” To his credit, Shayne actually looked sheepish recalling the incident.

The companionable silence that settled between them didn’t last long. Shayne was first to break it.

“Who taught you to shoot? Your dad?”

Courtney wiped a hand across her crumby mouth before responding, “Nah. Guns weren’t too common back home. Dad was a firefighter, not a cop or a soldier.”

“Firefighter, huh? Here in New York?” Shayne asked with interest.

“Over in LA.”

Shayne pursed his lips and nodded, “Right at the front line of all the wildfires. Brave man. I respect that.”

Courtney flashed him an appreciative smile before digging back into the sandwich.

After a beat, Shayne asked, “You pick the .380 yourself? It’s a good choice. Shows thought.” He played around with the plastic spoon in his hand for a second, before adding, “Most people when they get a gun, y’know, they get some flashy shit. Shiny piece, kicks like a mule, and they don’t know how to use it. Did you know lots of untrained people get their own weapons used against them by home invaders?”

“Wow, thanks for the morbid trivia, Shayne.” Courtney deadpanned, but gave him a smile to show she was pulling his leg.

Shayne huffed a chuckle and turned his head back to his food.

Courtney obliged just the same, “I met some nice competitive shooters at the range. They chatted me up and gave their recommendations. Then they gave me a crash course and convinced me to sign up for lessons. I wound up getting the .380 not long after.”

She could imagine the weight of the weapon in her palm as she began to talk about it. Shayne watched her with interest and a twinkle in his eye.

“Nice and small enough to conceal – even in smaller bags. It’s no .45, but it’s got great stopping power for its size. Ammo is affordable, easy to come by. Mag capacity could be better, but if it isn’t over by the time the first eight shots are out… well a bigger magazine isn’t the problem then.”

“You handled yourself really well that night,” Shayne said after taking a moment to blink back the admiration in his eyes. “I’m guessing that wasn’t your first rodeo?”

Courtney gulped. She could see the silhouette in the pale moonlight. The glint of his blade in the darkness. The uncertain weight of the pistol in her hands.

“It, uh – it wasn’t. Yeah.”

Shayne studied her with a cool stare but didn’t push it. Instead, he nodded in understanding and resumed digging into his cold lunch tray.

Later, when Courtney saw Shayne set his spoon down as he finished up, she searched her bag for the Macrogurt. Her hands wrapped around the cup, now at room temperature. She hesitated for just a moment. Courtney had been so excited to purchase the thing. She never really thought about how she was actually going to hand it over. She licked her slightly dry lips, and just spat it out.

“Got you something,” Came her bashful voice.

“Hm?”

Courtney proudly presented the Macrogurt with more than a little flair, and a wide smile.

“Oh my God,” Shayne chuckled, “You did not.”

Courtney grinned. It was rare seeing smiles like this out of Shayne, so she savored each one. His voice even lacked its usual gruffness. He sounded just like he did in her dreams. Courtney wanted to see that wide smile more. Hear that excited chuckle more. It was one of the few times her heart didn’t ache thinking about the man. Instead, her heart felt full and content at the thought.

“Figured you could use a little pick-me-up.”

Shayne gratefully accepted it, and bowed his head once, “Thank you.”

He didn’t hesitate to tear the cover off and go to town on it. He dug in with a little smile on his face and a smidge of yogurt caught on his cheek. It was adorable. Courtney unashamedly watch him dig into the cup. She could get used to that look on his face. Maybe she’d buy a couple more cups next time she was out. Halfway through, he closed his eyes and nodded to himself as he was savoring the flavor.

Shayne let out a delighted hum and opened his eyes to look at her. “You’re too good to me, Ms. Miller.”

Courtney felt the heat creep up to her cheeks as she waved a hand to brush him off, “No biggie, Shayne.”

She could see that faraway look in his eyes by the time he was nearly done with the cup. His eyes were darting around again in that manner he got whenever he was bracing himself to talk about something. It was such a fight or flight type of movement. Courtney wondered if it was a habit he formed only after it all went to shit. It didn’t seem like the type of mannerism that a steely soldier and family man like himself would have.

“You know, Lizzy, she loved this stuff just like me. Most kids want cereal or shit,” Shayne blew some air out, “Not Lizzy. Give her a cup of this and some fruit – she’s ready to start her day.”

Courtney gave him a gentle smile as she pictured it. She was touched that Shayne was able to confide in her about his family. She could only imagine the pain and the anguish he felt. She hoped that talking about them made it easier for him. Courtney then remembered the little fantasy she conjured while she was at his house. The image of how he tucked Lizzy in.

“What was Lizzy like when it was time for bed?” Courtney asked slowly, “When I was in her room, I just… maybe it’s dumb but-”

“No,” Shayne gave a sad smile, “It’s not dumb.”

Shayne ate the last of the Macrogurt before setting the cup down. He clasped his hands over his midsection and cleared his throat before he began.

“Lizzy was a real sweetheart. Never seen a kid with a heart as gold as that kid. But holy shit – she was full of energy,” Shayne laughed softly, “Some nights I had to chase her down. Part of it was because she didn’t wanna go to bed. The other part was to tire her down so she _would_ wanna go to bed.”

Courtney smiled back at Shayne, “I saw a book on her table. Did you read to her?”

Her heart skipped a beat when Shayne’s expression darkened. Any last bit of happiness on his face drained in an instant. Before she could apologize, Shayne answered.

“Most nights. But not the last night,” Shayne looked away from her again. His eyes found their spot staring at the bandages on his foot. “When I got home, I was just… I was so _tired_. Couldn’t do anything but sleep.”

“Ever been that tired? Too tired to go see my friends. Too tired to drink a beer. Too tired to take my wife to bed,” He scoffed, “But Lizzy, she was all energy.”

“Lizzy was – she was begging me, Courtney. She had that book of hers, One Batch, Two Batch… Penny and Dime. That was her favorite,” Shayne gulped, and continued through glassy eyes, “Every single night, in between deployments. I read her that book. But I was back now, I was out, I was done. She was begging me.”

“Shayne…” Courtney bit her lip.

“She begged… I was so tired. I kept telling her _I’ll read to you tomorrow night, Lizzy. I promise_ ,” Shayne’s devastated sigh was heart wrenching. “I… my head’s a mess. Memories are a mess. But the ones that are clear? They’re so fucking clear.”

“I remember how she looked at me,” Shayne hazarded a glance in Courtney’s direction before looking away. His trigger finger’s staccato tapping returned, “She was so disappointed, Courtney. Lizzy was an angel that whole day I got back, y’know? She earned that bedtime story.”

The words were catching in Courtney’s throat. She wanted to tell him it wasn’t his fault. None of this was on him.

Courtney gulped back the lump in her throat and blinked back the tears forming in her own eyes. She locked her gaze on his anxious hand and reached for it against her better judgment. Courtney eased her own hand over his to stop the erratic tapping.

Shayne’s head snapped to look at her hand, then up to her face. The man gave a faint nod, causing the tears to drip freely down. He glanced once more at her hand before looking away with a sniffle. He turned his hand over to allow Courtney to take a firm hold of it. Courtney held on for all she was worth.

“Lizzy was… she was more understanding than I deserved. Even through the disappointment, she understood; _daddy just got back, so he was tired_. So, she agreed. Next time. She shouldn’t have needed to understand. If I’d just read her the damn thing…” Shayne shook his head softly and gripped her hand tight.

“Shayne, no. You couldn’t have known.” Courtney wasn’t sure when her own tears began to spill over.

“You never – never really think about that, y’know? For her there was never gonna be a next time, Courtney.” Shayne sniffed. His head was turned away to try and preserve whatever pride and dignity he had left. Courtney had never seen agony and torment as deeply on anyone’s face as she did with Shayne in that moment.

“The last time I saw my girl I was holding her lifeless body in my arms,” Shayne swallowed back a sob. He shook his head as he muttered, “Meat was spilling out of her, Courtney. The place her face used to be.”

Courtney had no words.

All she could do was bring her other hand up to clutch onto his own with two hands. Shayne held on like she was his anchor. Like if he let go, he may just float away, never to be seen again.

In that moment, Courtney knew she could never fault Shayne for everything he’d done. She couldn’t begin to imagine what he was going through, try as she might. They always say no parent should ever have to bury their child. But to have both his child and wife taken away in the blink of an eye right in front of him? If Courtney had been put in his position – seen the things he’d seen – well, shit. She might have picked up a gun and gone _punishing_ too.

Shayne was steadfast in keeping his head turned away from Courtney as the tears flowed freely. She understood. They’d barely known each other for two days now. Courtney cared less for her image and wept steadily by his side. She focused on gingerly rubbing her thumbs over his bruised knuckles, hoping to bring him some comfort, and in doing so bring herself the same.

The flow of their tears eventually slowed down as time ticked by. Shayne was first to gently pull his hand free to wipe at his face. Courtney was quick to follow. Even after their emotions had quieted down, Shayne remained silent for some time. He looked ahead like he was deep in thought. Courtney allowed him to take the lead and voice whatever was on his mind whenever he was willing to. She’d never press him if he wasn’t ready.

“I don’t like this Reyes business, Courtney. I don’t want to roll over for her with this guilty plea,” Shayne’s jaw visibly clenched and unclenched, “If we go out without a trial the DA gets all the time in the world to wash their goddamn hands.”

It was a similar sentiment to what she told Ian and Anthony earlier.

“You wanna plead not guilty?”

“We take this shit to trial. Your boys are sharp. We knock these bastards off balance with the trial, and we get a better shot at airing the DA’s dirty laundry,” Shayne’s fists were clenched as he spoke, “We see what they’re covering up and why they want me in the ground.”

Courtney watched Shayne’s Adam’s apple bob as he gulped and added, “We find out if they had anything to do with my family.”

Courtney sighed and gave him a nod, “And then what?”

Shayne raised his hands, allowing the straps to pointedly rattle the bed’s railing. “Since I can’t deal with them my way, we deal with them your way; Leak and Grossman’s way.”

Speaking of the devils, Keith entered the room just then, with Olivia in tow.

“It’s your lucky day, Mr. Topp,” Keith declared.

“Why’s that, counselor?” Shayne asked.

“Delaware’s evidence ain’t holdin’ up. Not enough to extradite you.”

Olivia added, “Which means the death penalty is officially off the table.”

Courtney grinned at the two as Keith continued on. He returned to his perch on the chair at the foot of Shayne’s bed. He crossed his arms over the backrest as he said, “Noah gave us a call too. He put the pressure on Reyes that we were about to knock Delaware outta the park.”

Keith’s proud grin shone through, “Seems Reyes knew the evidence wouldn’t hold. So, she was lookin’ at four life sentences without the possibility of parole.”

Shayne nodded along as Keith explained, “Now, there’s a reason we sent our boy Noah to do the talkin’. Man’s the best negotiator I ever met.”

Olivia continued, “Noah got her down to one life sentence, with the possibility of parole in twenty-five years.”

Courtney pursed her lips and gave an impressed nod before asking, “Protective custody?”

Keith shook his head, “Noah said Reyes wasn’t buying it, said if Topp is such a badass, then he doesn’t need it-”

Shayne snorted in amusement. Courtney frowned.

“-but Noah said he and Reyes took a recess. After that, he’s gonna take another shot at protective custody, and maybe speeding parole up to ten to fifteen years.”

Shayne nodded deliberately. Courtney could see the hesitation on his features.

Olivia leaned against the wall to Keith’s side as she said, “We’re trying to be optimistic about how much more Noah can get her to budge. But to be realistic, this might be the final deal. No doubt, Reyes is betting on the gangs in gen pop.”

“As your legal team, we advise you to take the deal. All you gotta do, when Reyes and the judge walk in – just say three simple words: guilty, Your Honor.”

Shayne was still nodding, but anyone could see his thoughts were elsewhere. Particularly, they were going back to what he’d just been saying to Courtney.

“Something the matter, Mr. Topp?” Olivia asked.

Shayne briefly looked at Olivia, before turning his head to Courtney. His eyes were searching her own, almost as if for permission. Courtney nodded and offered him a reassuring smile. Shayne shook his head at Olivia and then levelled his steely eyes on Keith.

“I want to plead not guilty. I want us to take this to trial so you and Grossman can wipe the floor with Reyes. Get the DA’s office off balance. Get ‘em sloppy,” There was a fire in his eyes that Courtney hadn’t seen since that night protecting Grotto. This time, she didn’t fear it. She simply watched with a certain admiration of his determination. “I want to know why they’re covering up what happened to my family. I want to know if they had anything to do with it.”

Keith and Olivia clearly hadn’t seen it coming. Olivia was biting her lip and wincing at the idea. Keith’s jaw was slack, and he had to take a moment to lick his lips and lean back.

“Look, counselor, I appreciate everything you guys have done. Couldn’t ask for a better team, especially not that spineless piece of shit Roth.” Shayne paused and took the time to look at both Keith and Olivia before continuing, “But I want to take it to the next step.”

Keith retrieved his phone from his pocket to ring up Noah.

“Mr. Topp, I understand your sentiments, I do,” Keith stood up, “But I need to talk to my partner about this. While I’d love for nothin’ more than to make Reyes eat dirt, we gotta play it smart.”

Keith took a few steps to the back of the room before pausing and turning to face Shayne, “My man, when we offered to represent you – we ain’t takin’ that back, yeah? But you gotta understand, Reyes has got all the ballistic reports, some camera footage… probably not much witnesses though. They’d all be dead or not willing to testify against you. Point is, the odds ain’t exactly stacked in our favor.”

“Leak, you and Grossman do what you gotta do,” Shayne released a sigh, “But I’m not pleading guilty.”

“Okay, Shayne,” Keith said, “Gimme a sec.”

Keith walked over to the back of the room so he could speak to Noah in private. Olivia watched him go and blew a raspberry out. She then drew her phone and began running her eyes across the display.

“What’s that, Liv?” Courtney asked.

“Knowing Noah, he’s gonna make a bit of a fuss, then agree. I’m just getting a head start on planning our defense.”

Olivia was right in the end. Noah’s frantic voice could be heard from Keith’s phone across the room. After Keith took a few minutes to sharply whisper back to the other lawyer, Noah’s voice returned to a reasonable level. Noah said he’d tell Reyes they were done negotiating but would avoid informing her of their new course of action. As Shayne said, they wanted to keep the DA’s office off balance. They could let their guard down and expect him to plead guilty, and Shayne would go and do the opposite. The two attorneys still had no idea how exactly they’d fight to get a not guilty verdict at the trial. They just agreed they’d figure it out along the way.

The rest of the afternoon passed with little major developments. Noah returned to the hospital to touch base. The trio decided they’d return to their makeshift office a few rooms away to start weighing their options and figuring out how they were going to stick it to Reyes. Courtney opted to stay behind with Shayne. While the man was more lucid now, he was still beaten to shit and recovering from the damage the Irish dealt to him. Due to that, he needed a lot of sleep. He spent the afternoon drifting in and out.

While he was awake, he spoke to Courtney about things of little consequence. Their conversations were casual and considerably more lighthearted. He observed that she didn’t appear to be a paralegal like Olivia. Courtney admitted she was a journalist and an actor, which caught Shayne’s interest. She told him about Smosh, and the type of work they do. After that, Courtney told him that she found the acting award in his house. It had Shayne’s eyebrows pitching up in surprise.

“I found your comedy act too.”

It took a few seconds for realization to hit Shayne. An embarrassed smile found its way to his face. He ducked his head for a bit before looking back at her.

“Hey, Shayne.”

Shayne squinted his eyes with suspicion, but replied, “What?”

“You’re my favorite pizza place.”

“Oh my God,” Shayne laughed. Courtney was surprised by how carefree it sounded, however brief it may be. It was just so… joyful. It was music to her ears, and kind of cute, if she were being honest with herself. She liked seeing him like this.

It was quickly becoming a small, personal goal of hers to see Shayne back to who he may have been _before_. Yet a part of her feared it would all be in vain in the end. The best-case scenario really was a reduced prison sentence. That wasn’t an environment that Shayne Topp from _before_ would have thrived in. The Punisher would likely make the prison his bitch, though.

The thought was floating in her mind with increasing frequency. That there wasn’t any scenario wherein Shayne walked away a free man at the end of the trial. It bugged her far more than it should have.

When Shayne nodded off again, Courtney got back to scribbling down in her notebook. Aside from taking useful notes about the case, Courtney was also doing her best to chronicle the events unfolding before her: both the story of Shayne’s family and this upcoming trial. Keith and Noah both threw around the term _the trial of the century_ in passing. It would make a hell of a story someday.

It was later in the afternoon when Matt knocked on the door and let himself in. His little mission was a success. With Officer Martin’s assistance, he was able to secure Shayne’s wedding ring. He handed it off to Courtney and returned to his post. Courtney admired the simple gold band. She could make out Shayne and Nicole’s names engraved on the inside. Shayne was out like a light again, so Courtney figured she’d give it to him after the arraignment.

When it was time, Keith, Noah, Olivia, and Courtney stood by Shayne’s side. Two police officers filed into the room, flanking Reyes and the judge. Reyes’ steely glare passed over each of them before settling on Shayne. If looks could kill, Shayne’s own tightened glower would’ve put Reyes in the ground by now.

The case number was read aloud, and several other usual arraignment proceedings went on. Keith and Noah answered on Shayne’s behalf, until the Judge finally asked the fateful question.

“How does the defendant plead?”

Reyes watched Shayne with a smug uptilt of her head, looking down at him past the tip of her nose. To her, the dominos were all lined up perfectly for her, and she was ready to knock them down. No doubt the DA’s office was betting on the gangs in prison to finish the job once Shayne was shipped out to Rikers.

Shayne visibly began to take deeper breaths, and Courtney could tell he was resisting the urge to lunge at Reyes against his restraints. His jaw clenched, and the erratic tapping of his trigger finger resumed, searching for a gun to use that wasn’t there. After a tense few seconds, Shayne replied to the Judge with his scowl and his eyes still locked onto Reyes.

“I plead not guilty, Your Honor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are speeding up now! The next chapter is a doozy, and I'm doing my best to make sure it's still fun to read even if mini-legal dramas aren't up everybody's alleys. Thanks for sticking with me, and yes, you guessed it: Courtney is still yogurt mom in this story. Into The Macrogurt-verse, I guess? Lemme know what you thought of this one. Love hearing from you guys!


	7. What's with the Margarine?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shayne recovers from his injuries and deals with a new environment. Courtney works on her article. Leak and Grossman scramble to prepare their defense.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Graphic violence in this chapter. Be warned.

Shayne glowered at Reyes up until her scowling form left the room. The righteous fury in his chest was bubbling up and threatening to overflow. His knuckles turned white gripping the bedsheets. His deep and heavy breathing didn’t slow down even after the judge and the officers left the room as well. His lawyers, sensing his murderous intent, said they’d return to discussing the next steps tomorrow. Shayne could barely hear them through his heart throbbing up into his ears.

He didn’t need a gun or anything. Just give him his bare hands and a few minutes and he could pummel the answers right out of that smug scowling bitch. Find out how deeply this coverup ran. Find out how involved she’d been in his family’s deaths.

Their blood was on her hands. There was no way it wasn’t. Just the way she looked at him, and the dedication she had at burying him said enough. Reyes was dirty. Swear to God, if he just wasn’t restrained-

“Shayne…”

The voice broke through the red haze. It grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and dragged him past the inky black recesses of his mind.

Shayne blinked a few times.

He found himself staring down at his foot, still wrapped up in its bandages. His breathing was labored, like a cornered, feral animal. The sheets were ready to rip in the vise-like grip he was holding them in.

There was a weight that settled onto his shoulder, and he instinctively flinched away from it. He looked in its direction to see Courtney withdrawing her hand, concern evident on her face.

Fuck.

He looked away in shame and swallowed as he shook his head at himself. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

“I’m sorry, ma’am.”

Courtney’s hand settled back onto his shoulder, and he leaned into her touch like the pathetic, lost piece of shit he was. Shayne kept his gaze far from hers. He instead listened to the quiet scraping on the ground as she pulled her chair back over to his bedside.

“Hey.” Courtney had the most soothing voice. Not that he’d ever tell her that.

Shayne licked his split lips but remained steadfast. He didn’t have the right to look at her after flinching away like an asshole

“Shayne, buddy,” Courtney said softly, “Hey… Look at me.”

Okay, he couldn’t deny her when she asked that nicely.

Shayne hesitantly turned his head over to look at her. Courtney was ducking her head slightly to be sure to meet his eyes. She wore a small, cautious smile on her face.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” He stared into those soulful green eyes, “I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s okay,” Courtney gave his shoulder a squeeze. He focused on the feeling of her thumb brushing its soothing pattern against him. “No harm done.”

“Got you something else. Might make you feel better.” Courtney offered.

Shayne gave her an appreciative smile, and tried to ease the tension, “Is it another lukewarm cup of Macrogurt?”

Courtney made a face, “No, but I hope you’ll like it just as much.” Her other hand came up, and in her open palm sat his wedding ring.

Shayne’s heart skipped a beat, and an invisible force wrapped its hands around his neck. He stared dumbstruck at the plain gold band he’d worn for years. With more than a little hesitation, he picked it up with shaking fingers. Shayne turned it over and inspected it. When the cops took him in, he was afraid he’d lost it for good.

He slipped it onto his ring finger, savoring the sensation of the smooth metal against his skin. Shayne turned to look back at Courtney, who still wore that beautiful, bashful smile. He brought his hand up to his shoulder to rest on Courtney’s hand.

“Courtney, I…” Shayne gulped and trailed off for a moment. He had no words. He didn’t deserve the kindness and support Courtney was giving him. She asked nothing in return but just kept giving. With her emotional support, her dedication to searching for the truth, her yogurt cups, and now the ring. It took her a measly day to recover it. When Shayne asked her to try and find it, he hadn’t expected to see results so soon. Hell, part of him was expecting it was already too late.

Shayne could hug her, but his handcuffs prevented that.

“Feel better?”

Shayne watched Courtney bite her lip gently after she posed the question.

“I don’t deserve you, Ms. Miller,” Shayne muttered.

Courtney frowned and gave his shoulder another squeeze.

“Too bad,” Courtney huffed, “You’re stuck with me.”

It put a smile on Shayne’s face and knocked him out of the mini-pity party he was finding himself slipping into. They were silent for a minute or two as Shayne brought his attention back to the ring. He delicately ran his fingers along the shiny metal, committing its weight and its feeling into memory.

The door opened a crack, and Matt’s head peeked into the room. Shayne didn’t miss (but also didn’t care for) the disapproving look he was shooting them. Courtney was, again, standing past the red tape, a hand on Shayne’s shoulder.

“Got five minutes before lockdown, Court.” The detective declared before returning to his post.

Shayne heaved a sigh and slipped the ring back off. He handed it to Courtney. After a moment’s thought, he reached under his pillow to recover the folded picture of his family. He extended the photo for her to take as well.

“I don’t know when they’re gonna send me to Rikers for detainment. Figure I don’t want this getting confiscated and torn up by some asshole.”

“I’ll keep them somewhere safe,” Courtney promised him. Shayne believed her. Courtney Miller was becoming one of the most dependable people he knew at an almost alarming rate.

“I know you will.” Shayne smiled.

* * *

Courtney got home that night emotionally exhausted. This whole week had been a taxing one so far. She showered and slipped into something more comfortable than her paralegal getup. Courtney gave her bed one glance before she decided she didn’t want to give her brain free reign over her dreams yet again. She headed into her kitchen to grab a beer then settled onto her sofa with her laptop.

Courtney didn’t like using the term insomnia. She felt it was probably an insult to the people that _really_ suffered from it. Courtney _purposely_ slept less than the healthy number of hours she should be getting. Whenever the nightmares got bad, she fell back into the habit.

It started ever since that man broke in, and Leak and Grossman fought to rid her of the manslaughter charges. Said charges would have been easier to fight if she didn’t empty the entire goddamn gun into the guy.

But Keith, Noah, and Olivia were damn good at what they did. She’d forever be indebted to them for that.

The nightmares tended to come back in full force when she encountered similar cases while working the crime beat for Smosh. There were no shortage of break-ins and assaults in New York City. More than a few reminded her of her own case.

Courtney would find herself working well into the night just to avoid her bed, and the nightmares that came with them. With the Topp family on her mind, Courtney figured she was overdue for a few weeks of self-induced insomnia.

When Courtney hit a wall of writer’s block several sloppy lines into her first draft, she leaned back against the cushions. She took a swig of beer and glimpsed her purse. She set the bottle down and decided now was as good a time as any to store the Topp family photo and Shayne’s ring. It might get the creative juices flowing, at least.

Courtney slipped the photo back into its frame and took a moment to admire it. She ran a delicate hand over the casing and eyed the once happy family. Courtney set it down on one of her living room shelves, next to a family photo of her own with her numerous siblings. She tilted her head and felt a small smile come on. It seemed like a good spot.

Just as quickly, Courtney picked it back up. She brought a hand up to her face fast enough for it to hurt.

What the fuck was she thinking putting it next to her family photos?

She should be locking this thing away. She should-

No, hold on.

Courtney stopped, already halfway towards her room to hide the thing.

Locking the family picture away, hiding them where they couldn’t be seen – that was the type of shit Reyes was gunning for. Shayne wouldn’t want that. He wouldn’t want his family photo to be hidden and forgotten.

Courtney bit her lip and slowly returned the framed photo to her shelf, next to the rest.

It wasn’t because she wanted to pretend to be part of them – good God, no.

But this was a good spot. She found herself drawn to it. To Lizzy’s exuberant smile. To Nicole’s loving gaze fixed on Shayne. To Shayne from _before_.

It was like a reminder. A reminder of the stakes that were at risk. A reminder of why they were fighting so hard to uncover the truth. A reminder of what Leak and Grossman were risking their careers and their firm for.

Courtney felt as though she could draw strength from that. Strength from purpose in the pursuit of truth and justice.

Courtney nodded to nobody in particular and stepped back towards her purse. Shayne’s ring was what she could stash for safekeeping. It made more sense, in a way. She didn’t need to think twice before making her way to her bedroom. After a fair bit of searching, she uncovered a small unused ring box in her dresser. Courtney placed the wedding band inside and headed for her bedside table. She set it down next to her gun.

It felt symbolic somehow. Yet at the same time, quite literal. Courtney wouldn’t hesitate to empty her gun into whoever tried to take Shayne’s ring away.

Courtney returned to her perch on the sofa and began typing away with a renewed sense of vigor.

* * *

The succeeding days passed at a breakneck speed. Normally, with big cases such as this, it would take quite some time to set a trial date. For a whooping fifty-six murders and countless other charges, it would typically take months to set a date after the not guilty plea. Consequently, Leak and Grossman would have months to prepare for the difficult and undoubtedly biased trial.

Reyes pulled every string in her pocket to expedite the whole process. The day after the arraignment, they were informed they had one month until _The People v Shayne Topp_ began.

Leak and Grossman entered full blown panic mode after the fact. Even with Reyes’ meddling, they expected to have more time than a month. If Reyes was so confident to expedite the trial, it only meant the DA’s office had been building their prosecution case against Shayne the moment he became a blip on their radar.

For a time, tensions between Keith and Noah ran high. Keith, while dismayed, still wanted to put his best foot forward and give Shayne the best damn defense they could. Noah was getting heated because Keith was all for accepting the case, and the former only agreed because they were going for a guilty plea deal. It wasn’t supposed to go to trial. It was supposed to be open, shut, and done. When Noah agreed to go on with the not guilty plea, he assumed they had time to prepare.

In the end, Keith and Noah were still brothers, bound by all the experiences and past work they shared. After things escalated out of hand, Olivia assisted in getting the two to make up, hug it out, and resume working on the case in earnest.

While Keith, Noah, and Olivia scrambled to prepare for their defense, Courtney caught up on lesser work she’d missed, and focused on the big article. She reported her progress to Ian and Anthony periodically, but was quickly turning the hospital into her second office. Courtney stocked her fridge full of Macrogurt. Everyday, Courtney showed up to Shayne’s room to hand him a cup and get to work. Shayne’s eyes now lit up whenever she walked in. Courtney figured it was his Pavlovian response to her being his yogurt-dealer.

The hospital was a nice, quiet space where she could think and lose herself to the words on the screen. Shayne spent most of his days in and out of sleep as his body continued to recover from the damage the Irish did. While he slept, Courtney worked. Whenever he woke, Courtney took a break so she could chat him up. Shayne appeared to enjoy the company, and she enjoyed talking to him. Shayne usually woke with a mumbled word or two, and bleary eyes blinking into focus.

When he slept deeper, he didn’t wake as peacefully.

Courtney’s deft fingers typed away on her keyboard. She muttered softly under her breath as she did, “…The justice system… No… We are all culpable in… No…”

A sharp metallic clang rang out.

Courtney’s head snapped up to look at its source. Shayne was leaning forward, muscles straining against his handcuffs and the strap across his body. His chest heaved with labored breaths. His wild, desperate eyes darted around the room.

Courtney all but dropped her laptop to dart to his side.

“Hey, Shayne?” Courtney smoothed a hand over his arm, “Shayne, it’s okay.”

Shayne’s breathing slowed by a fraction, and he turned to look at her. His glassy eyes flitted across Courtney’s face like he was trying to take in the sight of her.

“I’m here, Shayne,” Courtney whispered, hand rubbing gentle strokes against his skin, “You’re in the hospital.”

The panic in his stormy irises subsided, giving way to a dark, echoing loneliness.

“Courtney.” Shayne’s breathless voice let out.

“Hey, buddy,” Courtney offered him a smile.

Shayne struggled to reign in the tortured breaths and gasps. He leaned back against his pillow, a cold sweat on his brow. Courtney grabbed a few tissues, bundling them up and dabbing them at his forehead.

“Thanks, mom,” Shayne muttered.

Courtney flashed him an amused smile and took that as her sign to return to her post. She gave his arm a final squeeze and sat down. She discreetly watched Shayne over the top of her laptop’s display.

“I’m fine, ma’am.”

Or perhaps, not so discreetly.

Courtney raised her hands in surrender, “Okay.”

“Don’t worry about me,” Shayne said. He didn’t meet her eyes as he spoke. He never could when he was emotional or when he was being a self-sacrificing piece of shit.

“You can’t ask me not to worry about you, dude.” Courtney crossed her arms in defiance.

Shayne spared her a glance, and his resolve lasted barely a second. He hung his head for a moment and nodded, licking his dry lips. Courtney allowed him the silence, turning her attention back to her article. Her momentum was broken for now, though. Side effect of being too empathic of a person. All she could think about now were his nightmares and how badly they hit him.

Courtney could understand how they felt. Obviously, hers were nowhere near as terrible as his. But she could empathize. He’d see his family taken away from him. He’d wake, frantic and wild-eyed as he found himself not at all in Central Park. There would be a split second of peace wherein he realized it was all a dream. And then the peace would be shattered by the realization that the nightmare was real. His family was gone. They weren’t coming back. He had to live with that forever.

Shayne never talked about the nightmares, as frequent as they may be. Courtney didn’t prod him over it. Instead, when his breathing slowed and he regained a semblance of calmness, Shayne talked about the memories of his family.

“Did I ever tell you how Nicole and I met?”

Courtney looked up from her laptop. With a curious smile, she shook her head.

“It was at a park. I had my guitar with me. Not sure what I was trying to accomplish out there, now that I think about it.”

“You play the guitar?” Courtney raised a disbelieving eyebrow.

Shayne covered his embarrassment with an eyeroll and an exasperated quip, “I’m not all guns and mayhem, lady. I’m a multi-faceted person, I’ll have you know.”

Courtney bit her lip to tone down her grin, “Yeah? What, did you serenade her?”

Shayne made a face, “If we’re being honest, she said I sounded terrible.”

Courtney laughed, “That bad?”

“Nicole said she’d go out with me if I _stopped_ playing,”

The stories would go on. She later learned that Lizzy constantly begged them to adopt a dog. Shayne said he would’ve loved to get one, but he didn’t need Nicole raising both a puppy and Lizzy while he was overseas. With damp eyes, Shayne admitted they were thinking of looking at animal shelters after they visited Central Park on that fateful day.

Nicole was very particular about the rice they bought. She gave Shayne shit whenever he picked up the wrong bag.

Lizzy had a massive appetite for such a tiny girl; Shayne said she got that from her mom.

Nicole was a kicker in bed – Shayne quickly clarified he meant it literally and not sexually – and he often joked that she hit him far worse than the enemy overseas ever did.

Lizzy liked pineapple on pizza, and Shayne said he asked Nicole if someone else was the father. It got him a good smack for his poor taste in humor. Courtney told him Lizzy had the right idea. Shayne called her insane.

Courtney learned more about his family than she thought possible. It wasn’t the only thing they talked about, but Shayne had begun to do so with more frequency. Courtney figured it was like therapy for him to get it off his chest and talk about them openly. It was also likely that it was how he sifted through the memories ever since the bullet scrambled his brain. It was a way to iron them out, like speaking them out loud cemented them as fact. She didn’t mind. On the contrary, she welcomed it. Courtney was drawn in by those bright blue eyes and his smooth, silky voice as he reminisced. She could lose herself in them.

* * *

As the first week flew by, so did Courtney’s progress on her story. She couldn’t release anything that would jeopardize the upcoming trial, so she stuck to the carousel massacre and its immediate aftermath. She ran the story by Leak and Grossman to make sure there were no details she needed to omit. After they gave their thumbs up, she passed it on to Shayne one evening.

Shayne’s eyes ran across her laptop’s screen, and his trigger finger tapped its familiar disjointed rhythm as he finished up. With a lick of his lips, he turned to Courtney and gave an approving nod.

“Looks good. You, uh – you should go ahead and send it to your bosses.”

Courtney didn’t miss the tiniest waver in his voice. She tilted her head and joked, “Are you just saying that because I’ve been bribing you with Macrogurt?”

Shayne smiled but shook his head, “Nah, I mean it. It’s good. You’re a fantastic writer.”

“Thanks, man.” She ignored the light heat in her cheeks.

“I’m gonna miss the bribes, though.” Shayne grimaced.

“Hm,” Courtney hummed, “I can probably come up with some other excuse to bribe you.”

Shayne let out a soft laugh but gave a downcast smile, “I’m sure you can. But it’s not that. They’re shipping me out to Rikers tomorrow for detainment. I’m too dangerous to wait out my trial at _home_ and all that.”

Courtney’s heart sank.

“Wait, what? But you – you’ve barely recovered!” Her brows met in a tight frown. The frustration built up in her chest, and the heat spread to her face and her ears.

“I’ll be f-”

“Shayne, you can’t even _walk_ straight! Who’s the shitbag I have to strangle to extend your stay?!”

He let out a defeated sigh and shrugged one shoulder, “I dunno. Detective Raub broke the news earlier and said it came from up top.”

Courtney’s blood boiled. “Reyes.”

“Probably,” Shayne agreed. “I’m sure the hospital was happy to go along with it. I’ve caught so much stink eye from the nurses – like, I’m just glad they haven’t tried to poison me.”

“No, this is bullshit.” Courtney stood up so she could make for the door. “If they send you out in this state, you’re as good as dead.”

“Hey, no – hey, Courtney, please.”

She stopped where she stood and crossed her arms over her chest. Heaving an angry sigh, she turned back to Shayne.

“Look, I know I don’t look like much right now – shit, you could probably kick my ass,” The ghost of a smile shone on his face as he tried to calm her down.

He went on, “But I can handle myself. I can walk, I can fight.”

“Shayne,” Courtney scoffed, “Don’t give me that – don’t put on that macho bullshit and bravado.”

There was a certain tightness in Shayne’s expression when he answered. That glint – the fire, the determination in his eyes was unmistakable, “This Reyes, she’s playing dirty, right? We can’t fight her that way – not Detective Raub, not some hospital manager is gonna be able to make me stay another week. So, you publish your article. Leak and Grossman keep prepping for the trial. You fight her clean.”

“This bitch,” Shayne curled his lip, “She’s probably been fighting dirty for so long she can’t put up a clean fight. Take her down with Smosh, with the trial. Let them put me in Rikers. Let them come. I’m ready for whatever Irish, biker, or Cartel assholes try anything.”

Courtney bit her lip. Seeing the absolute certainty and conviction on his face only served to bolster her own resolve. Yet she worried about him just the same. She didn’t want him getting hurt by some lowlife inmates connected to the gangs or the DA. Courtney took cautious steps to stand by his bedside. Her fury had simmered down and now she just ached with unease. She settled her hands down on his bed’s railings because she didn’t quite know what to do with them. Or rather, she did know. She wanted to hold the poor soon-to-be assaulted man’s hand to assure herself he was alive, strong and in one piece. But she didn’t want to be a pathetic, clingy sap.

“Shayne…”

“I wouldn’t lie to you, ma’am. I’m ready for them.”

Courtney believed him.

“I’m gonna miss the yogurt, though.”

Courtney chuckled, “Think I could sneak it through security?”

Shayne shook his head, “I’d be impressed if you could.”

“Well,” Courtney shot him a sly smile, “I can be resourceful.”

The familiar knock on Shayne’s door alerted them to Matt’s arrival. The detective had gotten used to Courtney’s blatant violation of security protocols by now. That red tape around Shayne’s bed didn’t mean shit to her.

“Hey,” Matt nodded his head, “Five minutes.”

Courtney shot him a thumbs up before turning her attention back to Shayne.

“I’ll see you in Rikers?” Courtney tilted her head.

“It’s a little out of the way from Hell’s Kitchen, isn’t it?”

Courtney gave him a look.

“I’m just saying, don’t trouble yourself too much on my account. The yogurt, too. I don’t want some correctional officer asshole giving you shit for sneaking contraband in.”

Courtney rolled her eyes, “We’ll see. I’ll drop by every other day or something. I don’t want you to be a stranger.”

Shayne nodded and conceded with a small smile, “Sounds good.”

Courtney ended up hitting Matt up afterwards. Not to complain about Shayne’s expedited discharge, but her latest investigation: Where is Max the dog?

“Look, I’ll tell you, okay? Just _don’t_ drop any more cartons of cigars on me for mom.”

Courtney grinned, “Deal.”

“I remember the dog.” Matt squinted slightly in thought, “Yeah, he had a collar with a tag. We found him the same place they were holding Topp captive.”

Her heart did a small flip, and she had to stop him there, “Wait, captive? I thought – that night, you found him bleeding out along with a bunch of dead Irish mobsters?”

Matt winced a little, but nodded, “They captured your boy Topp. He gave his statement when he came to the first night.”

Courtney motioned for him to continue as the deep frown marred her face, “They beat him and tortured him for hours, Court. One of them drilled a hole into his foot. That’s why he’s got the bandage. They were trying to find out where he stashed their money or something.”

“Oh my God,” Courtney muttered. A hand came up to press against her lips as her heart hammered in her chest.

“Topp said they were about to hurt the dog, and that’s when he gave it up. Then, he broke out of his restraints, got shot a few times, and wiped them out,” Matt shrugged a shoulder, “Then that’s when we found him bleeding out.”

Courtney had to steer the topic back to the dog. She didn’t need to start getting emotional in front of Matt of all people thinking about the pain Shayne went through. All this time, they talked about how they _found_ Shayne when they arrested him. The whole torture part was often left out.

She learned Max was sent over to one of the shelters in town, named the Pawsome Animal Shelter. The next day, Courtney paid it a visit during an extended lunch break. Ian and Anthony were going over her article, so she had a bit of time to kill. There were dozens of dogs and a handful of cats in the overcrowded shelter. The people running the place were understaffed, quite frazzled, and running on four to five cups of coffee. The young man at the front desk shoved a record book into Courtney’s hands, while he opened one of his own.

The guy told her that they got new arrivals all the time from cops, Animal Control, and good Samaritans. They had to turn lots of them away to different shelters because they were just too full. Luckily for them, they kept records of all the incoming and outcoming animals. Unlucky for them, the system wasn’t digitalized, and the records were criminally disorganized. It took a good one and a half hours until Courtney found a Pitbull named Max that was held for two days before being sent out to another shelter by the name of Animal Haven.

It would be a good drive across town to get there, and Courtney had to hightail it back to work. She figured she’d pick up the search another day. What mattered was that the trail hadn’t gone cold yet.

When Courtney got back to work, Ian and Anthony flashed her the green light as well. They weren’t all too thrilled by the lack of additional corroborating witnesses, but it was a hell of a story. The x-ray of Shayne’s bullet-stricken skull was a major eye-catcher though. His name printed in white at the bottom of the x-ray sheet was also a point in their corner. They told her to pass it on to the editors for final revisions before it went live. Their one condition was that she publish the article and any Topp-related succeeding ones under a pseudonym. It would allow her to stay embedded with Leak and Grossman at the front seats of the story as it unfolded. Courtney picked up the moniker _Karen Page_ to use until this all blew over.

* * *

Prison food was shit.

Overseas, Shayne acted as a Scout Sniper. His job typically involved reconnaissance work that forced him and his spotter to be cut off from friendly forces for days at a time. While in the field, they subsisted on Meals Ready to Eat, or MREs. They weren’t bad. But after the fourth or fifth pack, the entrees all tasted the same. The cheese spread tasted like plastic on the bland crackers and flimsy tortillas. The instant hazelnut cappuccinos and artificial fruity juices were sweet enough to offend his senses. The pound cakes and pastries reminded him of the day-old stuff that bakeries would either throw out or donate.

Hospital gruel was bad. But Shayne figured it was largely because all the nurses hated him and were tempted to inject rat poison into his IV. No number of polite smiles or ma’ams would have gotten him out of that.

But prison food? Jesus Christ.

Shayne had just arrived in Rikers Island Prison Complex. As soon as Metro-General learned he could walk, they were all too eager to ship him off as per whoever up top’s instructions. It didn’t matter that Shayne still walked with a limp. They wanted him gone.

Shayne stared at the abhorrent, goopy mess on his steel meal tray. The burly inmate on meal duty watched him curiously for a few moments before the realization set in.

“First day, huh?”

Shayne level his disgusted gaze back at the inmate. With a grunt, Shayne asked, “What’s with the margarine?”

“That’s the trick. State’s got a mandated daily caloric intake or some shit. Look at this place. Think they got a budget for the gourmet shit you eat back home, blondie?”

Shayne scoffed and shook his head.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Now, move it.”

Shayne took all of two steps before the same inmate called out again.

“Hey, wait a minute.”

Shayne paused, his grip tightening on the tray. His muscles all tensed underneath his newbie white prison jumpsuit. He was wondering when he was going to be recognized. He figured it would’ve taken a day at least. Apparently three hours and a busy breakfast mess hall was all it was going to take.

“You’re Topp, right? You’re the fucking _Punisher!_ ”

Shayne took a deep breath and turned to face the inmate, who looked at him with almost excited eyes. The convict he was currently serving took a half step back when he saw Shayne, bumping into the next person in line.

The idle chatter that permeated the mess hall stilled. All eyes were on him.

Shayne didn’t miss the presence of the Irish, Cartel, and Dogs of Hell here. He’d been wary of them the moment he lined up for breakfast. The three gangs, scattered throughout the hall, observed him with predatory eyes. The rest of general population had mixed reactions. Some leaned away in their seats, wary of his reputation. Others curled their lips in disgust, holding their plastic sporks a little tighter. The rest ducked their heads and resumed their whispering. Gossip was one of the main sources of entertainment in prison, Shayne later learned. And he was the hot new topic.

Before the pregnant pause could draw on any longer, Shayne tightened his scowl and spoke in a growl, “You’re goddamn right.”

The gossip and the chatter picked right back up at that. Shayne took the opportunity to turn away and park himself at an empty table, feeling the dozens of eyes boring holes into his back. With more than one subtle, cautious glance over his shoulder, he dug in.

The instant mashed potatoes were bad. Instant mashed potatoes usually _were_ , especially when compared to the real thing. But this? No, it was like they used half a gallon too much water, just so they could get more food per pack. The bread tasted stale, as if they purposely waited for that before serving them. The tasteless corned beef was supplemented by a disgustingly large serving of margarine.

Shayne had been bracing himself for the gangs and the fights. He forgot to brace himself for the food.

He’d kill for a pizza. Or Macrogurt.

It wasn’t even an exaggeration. If some punk-ass Mexican Cartel convict was in here and had either, Shayne swore he’d crack his skull in to take it.

Shayne set his plastic spork down to chew, silently wallowing in the misery of the garbage food he had to contend with.

He missed Courtney.

It was a quick, fleeting thought, but it made his heart ache just the same. He’d gotten so used to her companionship that he suddenly felt so alone and isolated without her. Shayne could count on one hand the meals he ate alone ever since Courtney found her way into his life. It was jarring to abruptly be deprived of her quick wit and her compassionate voice, considering he’d last spoken with her barely over twelve hours ago.

Shayne’s train of thought was interrupted by figures entering his peripheral vision. Apparently, the Dogs decided it was the perfect chance to fuck with him. A trio of bikers came to a stop in front of Shayne’s table. The prick that seemed to be in charge of the little gang was a big, broad-shouldered man. His long, greasy brown hair shifted as he turned to glower at Shayne. He ran a hand through his beard as if in thought. Shayne all but bared his teeth at them.

“This the guy that took out Smitty’s crew?” The convict at the back asked under his breath.

“Don’t look like much,” The second agreed.

“How’s the family, Topp?” The man at the lead smirked.

A red haze flickered into Shayne’s vision, and his snarled retort was on the tip of his tongue, until the biker snatched a piece of bread from his tray.

“Don’t think your little girl’s gonna need this.” The biker shrugged.

Shayne had seen enough movies to know that might was right in prison. In his three hours in Rikers, it did seem like the case. If you let people get away with shit like this, they’d make you their bitch. As far as Shayne was concerned, he was now talking to a dead man.

“Huh – looks like the Punisher’s all bark and no b-”

Shayne’s left hand shot out to grab the biker by the hair. With a powerful jerk, he slammed the man’s face into the steel table with a resounding bang that echoed throughout the mess hall. He tugged up to reveal the biker’s bloody face. Shayne drove his fist into the biker’s nose for a good three blows until one of his lackeys tried to intervene.

He grabbed the inmate by the front of his jumpsuit and yanked him over the table and onto the ground. The third swung a fist at Shayne, prompting him to weave back. Shayne grabbed his steel tray and crashed it into the man’s face, sending him staggering back. With a devastating stomp, Shayne knocked the lights (and a few teeth) out of the man on the ground.

The momentary distraction allowed the lead biker to free himself. Shayne didn’t miss the object he pulled from his waistband. It was a shiv – a makeshift knife. Shayne easily dodged the first stab and grabbed his wrist. With his free hand Shayne gripped at the biker’s armed hand, twisting with the full weight of his body to disarm him. Shayne unceremoniously jammed the shiv into the biker’s neck.

The man pawed at his windpipe in alarm, eyes wide in terror. Shayne grabbed him once again by the hair and yanked him onto the cafeteria table. The biker’s arms feebly came up to push Shayne back with little results. Shayne tore the shiv free, and with the speed and force of a murderous sewing machine, jabbed it into his neck several more times. Blood sprayed onto the table and stained his white jumpsuit with a bright crimson. The third biker wiped the blood and instant mashed potatoes from his face and caught sight of the grisly scene. He looked just about ready to shit himself, and quickly made the smart decision to run off.

The meal hall was dead silent when Shayne turned his murderous glare to the rest of the room. They watched him with wide, almost amazed eyes at the brutal efficiency with which he ended the fight.

“You wanted the Punisher?! Well here I am! I’m the fucking _big bad Punisher_! Any one of you shitbags try anything, I’m putting you in the fucking ground!” Shayne roared. A part of it was authentic rage bubbling in his chest. The other was his experience in acting, upping the theatrics to hopefully discourage more would-be attackers.

To prove his point, Shayne forcefully flung the bloody shiv at the nearest table. It landed in someone’s potatoes and margarine with a light splat and more than a few specks of blood. The frightened inmates flinched away from it, scooting as far away from it and from Shayne as possible.

Shayne marched off in the direction of his cell to get cleaned up. He barely made it five steps before he was accosted by a pair of correctional officers. One was a heavyset, younger man that wore a bored expression. His nameplate read _Harris_. The other was an older man with a light build and a straight back. His read _Bell_.

Bell shook his head disapprovingly as he roughly grabbed Shayne by the arm, “Three hours, Topp. Three hours, and you’re already bein’ sent to the hole.”

“He started it,” Shayne grunted, more to himself than the officers. He followed them without a fuss.

The older man snorted a laugh, and replied, “If you’re gonna make a mess, keep it out of the mess hall. That ain’t what the _mess_ in that phrase means.”

“Am I gonna need to call my lawyers? I’m still awaiting trial.” Shayne found himself asking the practical questions.

“For what? I didn’t see nothin’.” Harris spoke up for the first time.

Bell chuckled along, “Oh, Topp, none of your fellow inmates saw nothin’ either.”

“Hm,” Shayne grunted, “Those cameras didn’t see anything either, I’m guessing?”

“Smart man,” Bell nodded as he added in jest, “Why’d you become a jarhead? Should’ve gone to Harvard instead, Marine.”

Shayne took a second to look at the older man. He carried himself in a certain way – had that bearing of a soldier. Corrections wasn’t really the first line of work Shayne would’ve thought a veteran would want to get into.

When Shayne didn’t respond, Bell added, “We don’t like paperwork, Topp. And I’m sure your lawyers don’t want to deal with extra charges. Think of it as a win-win.”

If being thrown into solitary confinement was a win, Shayne was worried of what a loss looked like.

Shayne glanced over his shoulder back in the direction of the mess hall. They were wheeling the corpse and the unconscious biker out on stretchers.

Right. That was what a loss looked like.

* * *

Failure.

Sometimes, failure is the inability to meet the passing marks on your course requirements. Sometimes, failure is missing a deadline for work, and getting your boss’ blood pressure through the roof. Sometimes, failure is missing your kid’s piano recital at school. Sometimes, failure is disappointing your partner by not being there when they need you.

There has been a failure among journalists far and wide, including, yes, we at Smosh. This failure is one of inaccuracy by omission. The failure to report the senseless, horrific loss of life earlier this year, on a balmy April afternoon.

In our beloved Central Park, by the locally famous carousel with her wooden painted horses – tragedy struck. Some of you will remember an incident of gangland violence. The Dogs of Hell, The Kitchen Irish, and the Mexican Cartel, for reasons currently unknown, engaged in a bloody shootout. This story didn’t make it to most papers, or their online cousins. All the culprits at the scene died of their wounds, and there were no reported civilian casualties.

This is false.

The life of one recently discharged, highly decorated, Navy Cross-winning United States Marine was forever changed in the most horrible way. Staff Sergeant Shayne Topp was in the park that day, with his wife, Nicole Topp, and his daughter, Elizabeth Topp. This was their spot. Whenever Shayne Topp found himself stateside after a tour of duty, he took his family to Central Park. He bought his daughter her favorite Cookies and Cream ice cream. His wife would hold him by the arm, and together, they would take Elizabeth Topp to ride on the carousel.

This was the kind of day that Shayne Topp had in mind, on that balmy April afternoon. A day of catching up with his family that he loved, rejoicing in the fact that now, he was here to stay. Shayne Topp was finished with his time in the United States Marine Corps. He was home.

The crack of automatic gunfire engulfed the Topp family. The last time Shayne Topp would see his family, he would be holding their lifeless bodies in his arms.

This is the last thing Shayne Topp saw before a bullet was lodged into his skull. He was taken into Metro-General Hospital shortly thereafter by first responders on the scene. This would have killed most men, but Shayne Topp is not most men. He is a fighter. He is a being of sheer will and conviction. He was a United States Marine, after all. So this should surprise no one.

Shayne Topp was placed into intensive care after the surgery to save his brain. For weeks, he lied in the hospital, little more than a husk, an empty shell with a heartbeat. His family’s remains were taken and buried with nary a wake or an obituary. Not a single news outlet told the world of the tragedy that unfolded that balmy April afternoon.

A nurse, who shall remain anonymous to protect his very life, told us of Shayne Topp’s stay in Metro-General. Fresh from his surgery, and deep in a coma, a do not resuscitate (DNR) order was placed on Shayne Topp by persons unknown. These individuals were described as wearing dark suits, and matching earpieces. Shayne Topp had no visitors during his confinement in intensive care, save for the suits who signed his death sentence to cover up the tragedy that occurred.

When the day came that the suits decided Shayne Topp was no longer worth keeping alive, the doctors were ordered to remove him from life support. Shayne Topp flatlined for an entire minute, until whatever vengeful spirit residing within him declared that he was not done yet. The dead man’s heart came back full force with no assistance. Within ten minutes of returning to life, Shayne Topp fled the hospital to recuperate far away from the public’s eye.

All good cover-ups need good cover stories. This is why a police report was fabricated to protect the suits responsible for hiding the Topp family’s massacre from the public. In the attached police report, you will see the world’s cleanest and most professional drive-by shooting. A lone gunman rode up to the Topp family’s vehicle. With surgical, Hollywood action-star level of precision, he fired his handgun. In this work of fiction, each member of the Topp family was executed with a single, neat bullet to the head. Shayne Topp was the only reported survivor of this shooting.

As _The People v Shayne Topp_ , the trial of the century, looms ever closer, this police report has cropped up. The District Attorney’s office, headed by District Attorney Samantha Reyes, is using this police report to bury the truth of what happened to the Topp family. After suit-wearing persons unknown failed to bury Shayne Topp with the DNR, the DA’s office is now trying their hand at putting Shayne Topp away, with no care or regard for what happened to his family.

Shayne Topp didn’t die when the suits had him removed from life support. Shayne Topp died the day his family died. The man who came back that day is who you now know to be the infamous _Punisher_.

The Punisher was never a bloodthirsty vigilante that sought to simply murder criminals. It went far deeper than that. The Punisher’s crusade was that of vengeance – of seeking justice for his family when the government failed to deliver it. It was a violent, surgical assault on those responsible for his family’s deaths – The Dogs of Hell, The Irish mob’s Hell’s Kitchen arm, and the Mexican Cartel. It was an inquisition in search of the truth of how far the corrupted web of criminals spread – to uncover the truth of what happened that balmy April afternoon in Central Park.

There are still many questions that remain. Questions, that when asked, could have you sent to the intensive care unit with your own DNR order.

There is no telling how deeply the truth behind the Topp family’s massacre is buried. There is no telling why, and by who a DNR was placed on a decorated Marine, husband, and father. There is no telling why a false police report is being floated around in place of the truth.

All we know is that we, and journalists everywhere, have failed to tell the public of the mindless violence that destroyed the Topp family.

All we know is that the government stood by and did nothing when Topp’s family was horribly slain.

To the public, we would like to pose: Did the tragic shootout in Central Park create The Punisher? Or did the government’s failure to deliver justice to Shayne Topp and his family create The Punisher?

To Nicole and Elizabeth Topp: We are sorry.

* * *

Smosh broke records the day they published the article.

Much of the general public once saw The Punisher as a cold-hearted psychopathic killer. Now, they saw the tragedy of Shayne Topp, whose family was taken away from him. The internet was booming with activity. Other online outlets published secondhand reports of Courtney’s piece.

Some criticized the validity of the claims, citing that Topp was shot in the head and didn’t make the best witness. Others claimed the x-ray could be doctored, and the police record could be authentic. Others rallied behind Karen Page, demanding that the truth of his family be spread; that the failure to report this tragedy be addressed.

Smosh was getting calls hourly from different outlets, both on print and online. They wanted to speak to the elusive Karen Page behind the controversial article, or her sources. Smosh kept it all under wraps, but it didn’t stop scores of people from walking into the office trying to learn what they could.

Certain groups were considerably moved by the article. Multiple veterans’ associations were rallying, demanding that the truth behind Topp’s family be released; that the government admit their reasons for covering it up.

The most absurd thing Courtney had seen so far was that there was now _merch_ for The Punisher. Shayne Topp had fucking t-shirts dedicated to him. They were black, with a white skull emblazoned on it, a discreet bullet hole marring the cranium. Shock aside, Courtney was tempted to buy one for herself in a size or two up. They looked like they made comfy sleeping shirts…

The tinfoil hats absolutely ate it up. They were digging into the carousel massacre with a fine-toothed comb. YouTubers spoke at length about the massacre, and their different theories as to why it was being covered up. Some offered that maybe it was a targeted assassination gone wrong, and the government was tying up loose ends.

Strangers on message boards convened and planned how they could assist Karen Page’s crusade for the truth. Some suggested they break Topp out of Rikers. Some suggested they beat up the cops who made the false incident report. Others morbidly suggested they exhume the Topp family’s bodies to confirm the bullet calibers used. Others got off topic and asked if Karen Page was as hot as her name sounded.

As was expected whenever Smosh stirred the pot this much, they received death threats as well. Most were for Karen Page, while several were to Ian and Anthony, for allowing this type of thing to go up. They appeared to be unsubstantiated, as they were most of the time. Nevertheless, it didn’t stop Ian and Anthony from keeping a buddy system with each other and a couple of other editors. Neither did it stop Courtney from performing an extra press check on her .380 whenever she left the building.

In between Courtney’s visits to Shayne in Rikers, she continued her search for Max the dog. She wasn’t sure if Shayne’s busting up of the Irish dogfighting ring had anything to do with it, but shelters were full everywhere. She felt bad for the poor dogs going through the system, passed off from shelter to shelter. The trail hadn’t gone cold yet, which was a relief. It’s just that the trail went on and on and on. Courtney had hit up about three shelters by now. There were only so many to go to, so she was optimistic the next few would lead her to Max for sure.

Courtney had kept this investigation under wraps for the most part. She wanted to surprise Shayne with the news that she found the pooch in one piece. The question that rang in her head was _then what?_ She supposed the logical answer was that she would adopt Max. Courtney had been wanting a dog for a while now, and she was all for adopting from shelters. To be fair, her apartment was dog friendly. She had a pretty flexible work schedule, and Smosh didn’t have any rules against pets either. If Max liked Courtney, maybe she’d go ahead and pick the overgrown pup up from the shelter.

It was about a week after the article went live, and two weeks to Shayne’s trial, when a mysterious package arrived at the office, addressed to Karen Page. With how much shit Smosh stirred up, it was standard protocol to run parcels through security. The last thing they needed was an envelope of Anthrax, or a bomb going off. When most of the outsiders were shooed away by security, the package was safely delivered to Courtney’s desk. With no shortage of precaution, Courtney glanced over her shoulder for good measure. It was a simple drab expandable envelope. There was a small note attached to it, which only made it stranger.

_Ms. Karen Page,_

_Hope this helps._

_-Psychic_

Courtney emptied the contents of the envelope onto her desk, and her jaw dropped at the sight of the Topp family’s autopsy reports. Her eyes scanned the papers as thoroughly as she could. They reeked of bullshit. It was all too clean – surgical, almost. They matched up perfectly with the phony police report the DA’s office claimed was of the Topp family’s deaths.

It was unrealistic. You could stick your hand into any pile of drive-by killing autopsy reports and find that the victims were always riddled with bullets. Even if handguns were used, and the shooters went for the head, multiple bullets would be expended. If these were the autopsy reports the DA wanted to run with, it just made the drive-by look like an outright assassination.

But one of the major takeaways was that Courtney could put a name to the autopsy reports. They were signed by one Dr. Gregory Tepper, the medical examiner of New York.

There was also an ace in the hole that this _Psychic_ had given them. Aside from Nicole and Lizzy’s autopsy reports, Shayne’s emergency room medical form was here from when he was first admitted. The form mentioned the extraction of multiple calibers of bullets from his body, apart from the round he took to the head.

Courtney had a feeling she needed a warrant or a court order to even hold these documents, but that was a problem for another day. Courtney packed up and grabbed her car keys.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Thanks for making it to the end of this one! Be sure to drop a comment, tell me how you liked this one! :) Also I hope the article by Courtney did justice to how good of a writer she's supposed to be LOL
> 
> I originally planned to play out the weeks leading to the trial in vignettes. This chapter was originally supposed to be a whooping 13k words consisting of the trial prep and the start of the trial. I felt that the pacing was going to be far too rushed, and there needed to be proper transition into that phase of the story. So here we have the article's publishing, Shayne's first day in prison, and Leak and Grossman MIA while they figure out how to defend Shayne in court.
> 
> The next chapter will be the awaited doozy. We got Shayne acclimating to prison life, trial prep, and more. It'll be a long one. I can't wait to share that with you guys. Have a great day now.
> 
> P.S I really need to implore you guys to check out the fanart that a dear Anon made for this story, in case you didn't see it in the comments. I'm blown away by the fact I could have inspired someone to actually make fanart based on my story. The artist is hella talented, and I can't wait to see the full piece. Link here, just close those gaps: imgur.com/a/ gBiC7KV


	8. The Courtney Effect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shayne struggles to acclimate to Rikers, and makes the acquaintance of Bell the correctional officer. Courtney regularly visits Shayne, and presents a promising lead for his legal team. Leak and Grossman hammer down on their defense strategy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, just in case it's not immediately apparent in the first few lines, this chapter picks up a couple days before the last one ended. Enjoy!

Shayne had been in Rikers for a few days now. The trial of the century was still a few weeks away. The waiting wasn’t getting any easier. Leak and Grossman – Keith, Noah, and Olivia, he reminded himself – had been meeting with him more or less every other day so far. They had to consult him to make sure he was onboard with the defense approaches they were taking, among other things. Courtney had been visiting him too, with just about the same frequency.

Courtney’s visits had less to do with the trial. They tended to focus more on his family’s murder; the ins and outs, what they did and didn’t know. Things were moving slower on that end, but Shayne didn’t blame her. Nobody ever said shedding light on a conspiracy was ever going to be easy.

Sometimes her visits were also just… visits.

“You sure move on quickly, Topp,” Bell, the older correctional officer, mused. He had a hand on Shayne’s back to lead him across the drab grey halls of the prison. They were on the way to the public visitation room. It was Courtney’s second visit now.

Shayne’s eyes tightened as he looked at the man from his periphery. His cuffs and shackles jingled as he walked. If they were any louder, Shayne could just pretend he didn’t hear Bell. Alas, Shayne learned from the hushed gossip of the other inmates that Bell was an officer whose good side you wanted to stay on. The older man didn’t look like much, but his connections supposedly went deep. If he wanted to throw you in the hole for a week because he felt like it, he could. If he wanted to pull you out of the hole three weeks early, he could.

Although, Bell also hardly seemed vindictive. Shayne didn’t want to find out, in any case.

“What makes you say that?”

“Your girlfriend’s visiting you again.”

Shayne’s jaw clenched tight. He was not having this conversation. Bell could toss him in the hole again for all he cared. He was not-

“Not the Asian lady and your funny lawyers. The blonde one with the nice legs.”

A red haze filled Shayne’s vision.

It simmered down, enough that he could see and think clearly. Not enough that he didn’t act impulsively.

“Hey,” Shayne growled as he turned to stand in Bell’s path, “You don’t talk about her that way. Got it?”

Bell’s usually calm and neutral expression changed to one of surprise. There was no fear in the older man’s gaze. Just the shock that he prompted a reaction out of Shayne. As far as Bell knew, the only thing that got Shayne riled up was shitbags provoking him. He’d put two people in the ground in the few days he’d been here, and both were arguably cases of self-defense, if not a little excessive.

“What are you gonna do?” Bell stepped around Shayne to continue leading the way. He stopped to turn back with a grin, “You gonna punish me?”

Shayne’s sneer was just short of baring teeth at Bell like an angry wolf. He settled for bumping into the older man’s shoulder and walking ahead. Bell stumbled a foot or two but was quick to regain his balance. Shayne felt Bell’s hand return to his back to resume the escort. The man let out a low laugh at Shayne’s expense.

“Goddamn, Marine. I’m pullin’ your leg here! Lighten up!”

Shayne did not lighten up.

“C’mon, Topp. I’m curious here. She your girl, or not?” Bell watched Shayne closely as they walked.

“Not playing your games, Bell,” Shayne grunted.

“Psh,” Bell scoffed, “No games, Topp. I’ve been doin’ this for years. Young guy like you with fifty-six murder charges gets a bombshell visitor like that? What’s the story?”

Shayne remained silent and grit his teeth.

“Is it like a groupie thing? You’re a good lookin’ guy, Topp. Are you her Ted Bundy? Charles Manson? Uh… Ed Kemper?”

“Jesus Christ, Bell,” Shayne finally turned to look back at the man, “You’re a sick fuck, you know that?”

The older man grinned widely and raised his hands in question, “What? Is she not your groupie then?”

Shayne tightened his glare, and conceded, “No.”

“So, girlfriend?”

“No.”

“Sister?”

“No.”

Bell let out an irritated sigh as they came to a stop by the steel doors leading to visitation. He continued speaking as he got to work undoing Shayne’s cuffs and shackles, “So, not a groupie, not a girlfriend, not a sister – who is she to you, son?”

Shayne could see Courtney through the bars of the door. She sat alone on one table. Her blonde hair popped under the fluorescent lights in the drab grey visitation room. Courtney wore a pencil skirt, paired with a blazer over her blouse. She probably flashed her paralegal ID on the way in if she was dressed like that. She looked good.

Courtney brushed a hand through her hair, and Shayne realized she was using her phone’s front camera as a mirror. Shayne felt his perpetual scowl break when Courtney began to use the front cam to check if she had anything in her teeth.

His view was rudely interrupted by Bell’s stubbly face coming into view as his shackles were undone.

Bell turned and followed the direction Shayne had been staring. As soon as the gears clicked in his mind, Bell turned back to Shayne with a wicked grin.

“Goddamn, Topp,” Bell lightly clapped a hand on Shayne’s cheek. Shayne swatted his hand away with an irate glare. “I didn’t think you knew how to smile. She must be special if she can get you to wipe that goddamn frown off your face.”

For good measure, Shayne turned his frown back to Bell. The older man hit the switch on the wall, triggering a loud buzz, and for the door to slide open.

With a more sincere smile, he patted Shayne on the back to urge him through the door, “Have fun, Topp. See you in two hours.”

Sparing Bell one last glare with half the venom, Shayne stepped into the visitation hall. The first time he met Courtney here, he was surprised Rikers had a public visitation hall. With how miserable the entire goddamn prison was, he wouldn’t have been surprised if all they had were those phone setups, using shitty phones. It was a decently sized room with grey walls – this whole fucking prison was grey – and numerous steel tables fixed to the floor. The tables had matching steel stools fixed to the ground as well. Since it was a weekday, the room wasn’t too packed. Only a few tables were occupied with inmates and their visiting friends and family.

Courtney spotted him and raised an enthusiastic hand to wave him over.

Shayne felt the cracks in his stoic mask setting in. He crossed the room with long strides and dropped down onto the stool. Courtney’s pleased smile turned into a concerned frown. Shayne watched her well-groomed brows pitch together, and her soft lips form the subtlest pout. Shayne blinked a few times as he rested his arms on the table.

“What?” Shayne finally asked.

“Dude, your face. Does it – does it hurt?” Courtney reached a cautious hand out across the table to touch his face. Her fingers were as light as a feather against his skin. They tenderly grazed the surface of the black eye he forgot he had. Shayne closed his eyes, centering himself on the sensation of her fingertips ghosting on over towards the small cut on his cheek. He took slow, calm breaths. Courtney’s hand lingered on his cheek, thumb brushing against the bruised skin.

Shayne swore this woman was the peaceful eye to his hurricane.

He opened his eyes when Courtney withdrew her hand. She asked, “Did they get the drop on you?”

Shayne sighed, “Yeah, kinda.” He wrung his hands together as he recalled, “I got sloppy. I forgot nowhere is safe. Even the showers.”

He scanned the room as he spoke. The cameras were functional, as the red blinking lights indicated. The guards were in their posts on either corner of the room. His attention briefly settled on one of the inmates. He was a huge, mountain of a man with a thick beard. Judging by the tattoos, he was with the Dogs. He sat with a woman and a small boy.

Courtney grimaced, “Was it bad?”

Shayne turned back to Courtney and re-centered himself on their conversation. He remembered the soap being in his eyes when the towel came out of nowhere to wrap around his neck. He was able to twist free before the choke was locked in place. But since he was caught, quite literally, with his pants down, Shayne caught a solid jab-straight-hook from the Cartel shitbag that ambushed him. After recovering from the initial flurry, Shayne regained the upper hand and choked the man to death with his own towel. Bell later escorted Shayne to the hole for the second time, nonchalantly saying it’s been a while since they’ve had a shower strangling.

Shayne made a face and tilted his head back and forth for a moment, hand raising up to gesture that it was so-so. He’d spare Courtney the gritty details. Fighting naked wasn’t an experience he was eager to repeat. “Other guy got off worse.”

Courtney scoffed, “I’ll bet. So, tell me: how’ve you been?”

Shayne shifted in his seat slightly as the memories of the preceding days crept in. He did his best not to grimace when he answered, “Not great, Courtney. I haven’t been here for a week and I’ve done two stints in solitary confinement. They call it _twenty-three and one_.”

Courtney frowned, “Why’s that?”

“You get twenty-three hours chained up in a small room – a box, really. No outside contact other than shitty meal trays slipped in,” Shayne’s eyes lost focus as he spoke. He could picture the dark, dank room. He could smell the mold from the leaky pipes and hear their steady drip. He could feel the hard, pathetic excuse for a mattress beneath him.

“During the one hour, you get to go outside. Shower, rec room, whatever…” Shayne could feel the darkness creeping in. He could hear the rattle of the guards’ keyrings as they walked by to let some other punk out. He could feel the cold floor beneath his criminally thin socks. He could smell the vomit from the cell of whoever had a week-long stay in solitary.

A weight settled on his hand, and Shayne’s eyes blinked back into focus. Courtney had leaned in closer, brows back in that concerned frown of hers. Shayne’s skittish eyes snapped down to Courtney’s hands which held onto his own. His eyes flitted back up to her face, then away.

He needed to get his goddamn shit together.

“Hey,” Her soft voice came, “Why don’t you tell me about something other than solitary?”

Shayne nodded. He could do that. Once Courtney withdrew her hands, he began.

“I don’t know what’s worse. The margarine itself, or the fact that I’m getting used to it all over my food.” Shayne could taste it in his mouth, so he changed course, “I – uh, I got a work assignment, so I get credits to spend at the commissary.”

“Oh?” Courtney’s expressive brows pitched up slightly, “Doing what?”

“Laundry.”

Shayne wasn’t sure why it amused Courtney, but it did. Her face broke into a smile, and she leaned in closer to him. Courtney took an audible sniff, made a show of considering the smell, and leaned back.

“What’s the verdict, Your Honor?” Shayne asked.

“It’s a real… _industrial_ smell, but you do smell like fabric softener.”

Shayne sighed, “Shayne Topp, the terror of New York City, the fucking Punisher, and I smell like fabric softener.”

Courtney giggled, “It’s not a bad thing.” She gave a half-hearted shrug, “Might not be as intimidating, but it could be worse,”

“I guess.”

“Why laundry then? You said you did a bit of cooking – why not be on margarine duty?” Courtney asked.

“I’m too dangerous to handle sharp and pointy objects. The guards figured the laundromat is the only place that I could safely be assigned to. I mean,” Shayne scoffed, “I choked a guy with a towel, what’s going to stop me from strangling a guy with a laundry bag cord?”

Courtney fixed Shayne with a disapproving look and a disappointed tilt of her head, “Shayne, c’mon, if you keep picking fights-”

The days-worth of pent up frustration and tension breached the surface, and Shayne snapped before he could reel it in.

“Hey – I don’t go looking for these shitbags, okay? These guys have been coming at me and starting shit, what am I supposed to do, huh?”

Fuck.

The guilt hit Shayne as quickly as the words left his mouth. He hung his head in shame and heaved a heavy sigh, eyes settling on his folded arms and bruised knuckles.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

“Shayne…”

Shayne shook his head and didn’t dare look up at Courtney. Piece of shit like him didn’t deserve that. “I’m sorry, Courtney.”

Courtney was silent for a while until she let out a sigh of her own. Shayne was bracing himself for her to tell him she’d see him some other time.

“I think… you’re angry and frustrated,” Her hands eased onto his arms to rub them gently in soothing motions, “And you’re tired of having your guard up around the clock, surrounded by people who want you dead. I think maybe being stuffed into a box for two days this week has taken its toll on you.”

“And while you shouldn’t take it out on me,” Courtney took on the slightest scolding tone, “I know you didn’t mean to pop off.”

“It won’t happen again.” Shayne frowned. The last thing he’d ever want to do was offend the only person that didn’t think he was a monster.

“Can we…” Shayne gulped, “Could we not talk about the attempts on my life for now?”

With a final squeeze of his arm, Courtney leaned back and suggested, “How ‘bout I do a little bit of talking instead? Take your mind off all of this?”

“Good idea.”

“I found a spot for your picture.”

Shayne didn’t miss the hint of shyness in her voice. “Yeah?”

“I got a shelf in my living room. It’s loaded with my family photos of _all_ my siblings. Your picture fit right in. I figured,” Courtney cleared her throat, eyes briefly darting away, “Y’know, maybe you wouldn’t want the picture hidden away.”

It put a smile on Shayne’s bruised face. It was an endearing thought to have the framed photo back on a shelf in the home of someone he cared about. Courtney was right. He definitely preferred that over letting it gather dust in some dark hole, never to be unearthed.

Courtney went on, “Your ring, too. I found a nice little ring box.”

The frustration and the tension slipped away as Shayne watched her talk. With deadpan delivery, he asked, “Did you put it on your shelf to complete your shrine dedicated to me?”

Courtney scoffed and looked away for a beat, biting back the smile on her face, “God, you’re such a dick.” She ignored Shayne’s chuckle and went on, “I put it in my end table where I keep my gun.”

It was Shayne’s turn to bite his lip briefly at the thought. Atomic Blonde and her .380.

“I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it, ma’am,” It came out serious, because – hell, he meant it. She went above and beyond. He truly didn’t deserve Courtney Miller. The woman was far too good for a lowlife like him. Shayne’s eyes darted away from hers. If the roles were reversed, Shayne knew in his heart he’d be doing all the same things she was. She deserved as much.

Courtney replied to the sentiment with a bashful smile, and a deft change of topic. “The article is making the rounds.”

It was a more bittersweet feeling that filled Shayne’s heart this time around. On the one hand, the word was getting out now about what happened to his family. On the other hand, it was a very deeply, personal matter, and Shayne couldn’t think about his family without being overwhelmed by the hurt. Especially when he was alone.

“No surprise there. It’s a really good piece.”

“I heard some vets are rallying in Central Park tomorrow. They want the government to bring justice to their _jarhead_. Something about how a _crayon-eater_ like you deserves better. What’s that all about?”

Shayne broke into a grin. Of course, the vets were going to react. He shouldn’t have been so surprised. And _of course,_ they would poke fun at him while they tried to help. “It’s how the military gives each other shit. Those vets are probably Army guys taking a piss at me since I’m from the Marines. It’s a good sentiment just the same, I’m sure.”

Courtney laughed lightly at that, “Yeah, they mean well, really.” After a hum, she added, “You have merch now, too.”

Shayne’s brow furrowed in confusion. “What?”

“They’re making merch of you. T-shirts, stickers, I think some mugs, too.” Courtney bit back the grin spreading on her face at his reaction.

“What – what do they look like?”

“Well, the main color is black, since you got that dark and edgy thing going on,” Courtney ignored Shayne’s offended face, “And a big white skull with a bullet hole.”

Shayne rolled his eyes, “Fitting, I guess.” After a pause, “Any negative feedback?”

Courtney gave a nonchalant shrug, “Couple of unsubstantiated death threats, but that’s nothing new.”

The familiar red haze flickered into Shayne’s vision as his stomach flipped.

He shifted closer, arms crossed on the table, and his expression darkening. “What? Who’s sending these?”

“It’s nothing. Smosh gets those all the time. They’re all bark and no bite.” Courtney waved a hand to brush it off.

Shayne leaned an inch closer, his lips curled into a snarl, “What do you mean it’s nothing? Those assholes can’t get away w-”

Courtney’s scoff cut him off, “Shayne,” There was that fire in her eyes that he found himself drawn to like a moth, “I can take care of myself. Relax.”

He pulled back slightly and heaved a sigh. This was Atomic Blonde with her hand cannon that he was talking to. Knowing better than to argue with a firecracker like Courtney (especially when she was most certainly correct), he raised his hands up to concede.

“I’m sure anyone that messes with you will regret messing with that .380, too.”

Courtney gave him a knowing look, and a mischievous wink, “Don’t you know it.”

* * *

The succeeding days passed similarly to the first few. Shayne woke up. He attended roll call. He cleaned his drab cell. He went to the mess hall for breakfast. He went to the laundromat for his work assignment. He had lunch. He went back to work. He went to the yard to workout. He cracked an Irishman’s head open with a 20kg barbell plate (though this wasn’t a daily occurrence). Bell told him the yard was sufficiently crowded, and the scuffle was hard to follow. This meant they didn’t need to toss Shayne in the hole, because they didn’t need to cut up any camera footage that incriminated him.

That was apparently how it worked. They weren’t going to lump murder or manslaughter charges on Shayne (or anyone), because it was too much paperwork. But if there were way too many witnesses (who wouldn’t snitch anyway), or cameras that caught it, or particularly fussy COs, people got thrown into solitary. It was their punishment for making the COs do extra work to cover up the killings.

Going back, Shayne then hit the showers. He passed by the library to grab a book. He returned to his cell to read until it was time for dinner. He had dinner. He went back to his cell. He attended evening roll call. Then the lights would go out.

The nightmares were getting worse. In the silent, lonely nights in his cell, he had nothing but the quiet dripping of the leaky pipes to keep him company. He tried to focus on their steady rhythm, as if it would hypnotize him into falling into a deep slumber.

Shayne smelled the earthy grass and felt the humid air on his skin. He felt the weight of Lizzy on one arm, and the warm presence of Nicole wrapped around his other. Shayne felt a brief tranquility. Then it would be shattered by the metallic racking of a weapon. He saw the blinding muzzle flashes as the hail of bullets destroyed his family.

He woke up in a cold sweat and with labored breaths, Nicole and Lizzy’s names stuck in the back of his throat. His bloodshot eyes flicked around the dark room as he staggered onto his feet, the cold floor biting through his socks. His hands gripped the bars of his cell door, gritting his teeth hard enough for it to hurt. The earthy smell of grass mixed with the metallic tang of blood was gone. In its place was an acrid mold, and stale air.

Shayne’s eyes took a long moment to blink back into focus, and his rapid breathing took its time to slow down. As reality and realization engulfed him like an endless, suffocating blanket, he dropped his head forward to rest against the cool steel bars. He eventually sat back down on his bunk with his head in his hands.

Shayne missed the hospital. He missed Courtney. He missed her steadfast presence, and her warm, soothing hand against his skin. He missed her lovely voice saying his name and telling him it was going to be okay. Shayne hadn’t realized until now how much he came to rely on Courtney. She was his anchor to reality in the frantic throes of his nightmares.

He allowed himself to let The Punisher’s snarling mask down in the desolate blackness of his cell. He wept frustrated, angry tears until he was too tired to continue.

The next day put Shayne just about two weeks until his trial. His day went on like most did. He skipped the yard workout because he didn’t feel like guarding against shivs in the bustling open area. He lied down in his bunk, a hand behind his head as he read through the prison’s tattered copy of _Don Quixote_.

A silhouette by his door immediately caught his attention. Shayne’s scowl reset into place and he pushed himself to sit up. He’d never beaten a man to death with a book before, but there was a first time for everything.

His tightened glare relaxed a fraction when he realized it was just Bell.

The older man rapped his knuckles against the bars of Shayne’s door.

“How you doin’, Topp?”

“What do you want, Bell?”

“C’mon, we’re goin’ on a field trip.” Bell raised a pair of cuffs and shackles.

Shayne reluctantly set the book down and stepped out of the cell. Bell got to work locking the restraints into place.

“You got visitors, Topp.”

The plural form of the word meant it was Keith, Noah, and Olivia.

Ever since Courtney marched across the red tape to all but slap Shayne with the picture of his family, he wondered what she saw in him. Shayne felt like he was nothing but a killer and a lost, broken man. Courtney looked at him like he was a person worth caring and fighting for.

 _The Courtney Effect_ seemed to be contagious. Over time, Shayne found that his legal team began to treat him the same. At one point or another, they’d all gotten onto a first name basis, and they seemed to actually give a shit about what happened to him.

Long ago, Shayne was taught that torture wasn’t about pain, physical or mental. It was about time and routine. You take that away, and that was what made people lose it. Regularly meeting with Courtney and his legal team practically every other day was how he kept sane. There was a sense of comfort that came from knowing he was going to see people that didn’t want to put a shiv to his neck. The number of those that did was disproportionately high nowadays.

“How’s the trial prep goin’?” Bell asked once they were out of the cell block and meandering down the hallways.

“Working on it,” Shayne grunted.

“You’re not going for some bullshit PTSD defense, are you?” Bell asked, a serious tone in his voice.

Shayne glanced at Bell and narrowed his eyes, “Where did you serve, Bell?”

“3rd Battalion. My pop was 3rd Battalion in ‘nam. I fought in the Gulf.”

“ _The_ _Fighting 3rd_ ,” Shayne muttered.

After a beat, Bell added, “Lost my boy in Iraq. Fallujah was a mess.”

Shayne spared him a sympathetic look, “Sorry to hear, Bell.”

When the silence drew on, Shayne answered the earlier question, “I told them to drop the PTSD defense. Everything went to shit when I got home, not overseas. It’s an insult to the people that actually got it, y’know?”

Bell gave Shayne a pat on the back as they walked, “Good man, Topp.”

They continued in relative silence, the clinking of Shayne’s restraints filling the quiet air. Eventually, Bell broke it once more, like the chatterbox he was.

“Your girlfriend not seein’ you today?”

Shayne huffed an irritated sigh, “I dunno, Bell. You tell me.”

Bell shrugged innocently, “Blondie ain’t with ‘em in consultation. Figured maybe you’d see her after or somethin’.”

Shayne chose not to respond, prompting the gossip-whore to continue prodding him, “Ya miss her?”

He did, but he wasn’t going to tell Bell that. Shayne didn’t need Bell chattering about that with the other COs in the locker room.

“When are you gonna make a move, son?

The incredulity forced a scoff out of Shayne as he turned to frown at Bell, “ _Make a move_? Do you hear yourself right now, Bell?”

Bell grinned, “I dunno, it makes for some sweet Romeo and Juliet shit, don’t ya think? Forbidden love an’ all that shit.”

Shayne kept his irritated gaze forward as he snapped back, “I thought you were a goddamn CO, Bell. Not a matchmaker.”

Bell cackled as they came to a stop in front of the consultation room’s steel doors. Shayne didn’t get uncuffed in the consultation room. Something to do with security not being present in the immediate room for privacy.

Bell hit the switch on the wall, signaling the loud buzz and the door’s opening. He patted Shayne’s back as he dropped his idea of parting wisdom, “I’m just sayin’, Topp. Rikers is a hellhole. You got a nice girl like that comin’ to see you? Make the most of it.”

Shayne turned to face Bell fully. In a less forceful tone, he explained, “It’s not like that.”

Bell shrugged and with pursed lips, asked, “Why not?”

He didn’t dignify the question with an answer. Instead, he waved Bell off as he stepped into the room.

Keith, Noah, and Olivia were already sitting in the dim, grey consultation room. The fluorescent light overhead blinked slightly. Enough that you would notice it, but not enough that you could quite catch it or point it out. The trio crowded the metal table, awaiting his arrival. Bell escorted Shayne to the table and proceeded to chain his cuffs to a ring on its surface.

“Take care of my boy Topp for me,” Bell quipped before making his exit.

Shayne didn’t miss how they were eyeing the new cuts on his face.

“I was gonna say you should see the other guy, but you might lose your lunch.”

Olivia gave him a concerned, uncertain smile. Noah snorted out a laugh. Keith apparently loved it, because he broke into laughter at that. Shayne didn’t know why, but Keith seemed to think that he was the funniest man alive, even when he wasn’t really trying. Not that Shayne was complaining. Comedy was supposed to be the career he was going to pursue after he was discharged. It was just a pipe dream now.

“How are you, Shayne? Seriously?” Olivia asked.

Shayne waved a hand, rattling his chains, “Nah. I’m fine. I’ve had worse scraps.” He paused then for a moment, glancing at the door at the back, “Is, uh – Courtney coming today?”

“You mean the elusive _Karen Page_?” Noah asked with a smile.

“If she is, she didn’t tell us,” Keith said, “Maybe you’ll catch her tomorrow.”

Shayne nodded with a slight frown.

“So, what’s on the agenda today, counselors?” Shayne asked.

“We heard you loud and clear on the PTSD defense,” Noah began, “The angle we want to go for instead, is EED. Extreme Emotional Disturbance.”

Shayne narrowed his eyes, “Sounds like PTSD.”

“We wouldn’t do you dirty like that, man,” Keith chimed in, “This is a whole ‘nother can o’ worms.”

The previous week, the team presented the idea of a PTSD defense to Shayne. He scoffed it off and told them it was an insult, just like he did with Bell. Shayne told them he didn’t want to be labelled as another crazed combat vet that lost his mind. The talk sent Leak and Grossman packing back to the office where they could reconvene for another defense strategy session.

“Hm,” Shayne hummed, “Enlighten me.”

“Counselor,” Noah tilted his head in Olivia’s direction, “You take the lead.”

Olivia flushed and let out an embarrassed huff at the title, “You guys, I haven’t even taken the bar yet.”

Keith began rhythmically tsk-ing away. Noah raised a hand to his ear, as if to listen to the sound better.

“You hear that, Liv? Clock’s ticking, c’mon.”

Shayne chuckled at their act as Olivia got her documents ready. After clearing her throat, she began.

“So, the EED defense basically acts as a mitigating factor for your sentence. If we win the case, you get a lighter sentence – ideally a single life sentence and parole in twenty-something years. To win the case, we work to convince the jury that at the time you committed the murders, you were acting under the heightened emotional state that we call Extreme Emotional Disturbance. While the burden doesn’t lie on the prosecution to prove us otherwise, it’ll hurt their case and risk them the win if they can’t shut down our defense.”

Shayne nodded along, “I mean… makes sense, I guess.”

“Now, to prove EED as our mitigating factor, we have to prove that you experienced things that led to this heightened emotional state…” Olivia trailed off meaningfully.

“Right,” Shayne muttered.

Noah continued, “We’re gonna be calling in a few expert witnesses – psychologists, neuroscientists – they’re going to testify and put validity into our defense.”

“Now, Shayne,” Keith added, “A defense like this is risky, but given what happened to your family, we think we got a shot. Risky ain’t good enough for us though. We wanna make this shit bulletproof, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Shayne agreed.

“So, we wanna bring in a couple character witnesses, too.” Keith explained, “People that know you and can speak of your good character. It helps add to the defense. We’re gonna show the jury you’re a good ol’ boy, as American as apple pie – all that shit. We’re gonna show ‘em that these killings – that ain’t you. That’s a result of the extremely heightened emotional state you entered as a result of that tragedy at the park. Therefore…”

Noah concluded, “You deserve a lighter sentence, and a shot at the outside world in a decade or two.”

Shayne had to blink a few times as it all settled in. They really went above and beyond for his sorry ass.

“Jesus,” He muttered.

“What’s up, Shayne?” Olivia asked.

“Just occurred to me, y’know? If I let Roth defend me, I’d probably be dead by now.”

Keith let out a humorless chuckle, “Don’t thank us, Shayne. Thank your girl, Court.”

Shayne frowned, “Why’s that?”

“She convinced us to take you on as our client,” Noah explained with a fond smile, “She might have pulled a gun on me if I kept dragging my feet and coming up with excuses not to.”

Shayne leaned forward to press his face into his hands. He shook his head as he thought out loud, “Of course, Atomic Blonde from the hospital, who I shot at, and got shot by, is the one that talked you into it.” He wasn’t sure how he didn’t connect those dots sooner.

It was crazy to think about the whole mess. If Courtney hadn’t been in the hospital that day, he may very well have been sentenced to death by now. Whatever supreme being out there managed to see fit to put Courtney in his path. Courtney with her heart of gold and drive to search for the truth. Courtney, with her Macrogurt and wedding ring retrieval. Courtney, who was brave enough to march past the red tape and shove the photo of his family in his face. Courtney, who for whatever reason thought he was worth saving. Courtney, who convinced Leak and Grossman to defend him. Courtney, who singlehandedly pulled him out of his self-pity, nihilism, and acceptance of impending death.

Shayne really owed this woman a lot more than he realized.

When Shayne pried his face out of his hands, Olivia spoke up, moving them back to the topic at hand.

“You got any character witnesses we can bring in, Shayne?”

There were few that came to mind. Colonel Ray Schoonover was his first bet. The man practically taught Shayne how to shoot a gun. Shayne knew him since the start of his military career. No doubt, he could speak of his character.

While he’d call any Marine that stood next to him a brother, there weren’t many that Shayne knew too personally. When they were back stateside, there were but a handful he kept in touch with. Fewer still lived in New York. Those that did, he’d already lost.

He thought of outside the Marines. In the Navy, there was Damien, who was often deployed alongside their unit as a corpsman. The man was as good as a brother to Shayne. But Shayne hesitated. Damien had a good thing going for him. He was reluctant to pull Damien into this shitshow and have Reyes paint a target on his back. There was a reason he adamantly refused Damien’s help when he began his vengeful crusade. His corpsman’s assistance started and ended when he took care of Shayne in the time that followed waking up from the bullet he took to the head.

But if Damien learned that Schoonover testified as a character witness and he didn’t get to – oh, boy. Damien might just strangle him.

“Colonel Ray Schoonover. He was my old Commanding Officer. He, uh – he can tell you how I got the Navy Cross. Some of the stuff is probably classified, but Schoonover can tell you what he’s cleared to,” Shayne finally said.

Olivia was quick to begin noting it down.

Noah gave an approving hum, and prompted him, “That’s really good, Shayne. Anyone else?”

“Damien Haas. He’s a Navy corpsman that served with my unit. We go way back. He could probably say a thing or two.”

“Nice,” Keith gave a thumbs up, “Should do the trick.”

“We’re not totally out of the woods yet,” Noah chimed in, “A large part of the EED defense lies on proving the source of the distress… Right now, it’s your word against anyone’s.”

Shayne’s jaw clenched, and he gave a stiff nod in recognition of the dilemma. They still needed to get the assholes that were covering this all up. Hard proof was difficult to come by when the deck was so heavily stacked against them.

A sharp buzz rang out just then, and a correctional officer opened the door. Courtney stepped in. She was dressed more casually today, similar to the night she strode past the red line around his bed. Shayne felt the tension ease out of his muscles at the sight of her.

“Hey guys – fashionably late, sorry.”

The legal team sent their enthusiastic greetings her way. Shayne settled with a simple, “Hey.”

Courtney grimaced at his new cuts and bruises. She set an envelope down on the table, “You look like shit.”

Shayne made a face at her, earning a laugh from Courtney.

With a more concerned voice, and her brows pitched together, she asked, “You okay?” And in a less serious voice, “You need me to shoot anyone? Just point ‘em out. I’ll take care of ‘em, bud.”

“Gee, thanks mom,” Shayne rolled his eyes and earned a soft round of laughter from around the table.

Courtney then cleared her throat and tapped the envelope she placed on the table for emphasis.

“I got a package today.” Courtney reached into the envelope, then paused, “I still have attorney-client privilege, right?”

The trio frowned at her almost in sync. She clarified, “I don’t know how legally questionable these documents are to possess, or if I should’ve turned them in to the cops, or something.”

Noah nodded, “Yeah. That’s fine. I mean, you’ve already broken and entered into Shayne’s home, I don’t think possession of these holds a candle to that.”

“Well, now that you mention it,” Courtney upended the envelope onto the table. Shayne leaned in to get a better look at the small assortment of documents. His eyes tightened as realization dawned upon him.

“These are Nicole and Elizabeth Topp’s autopsy reports, signed by the medical examiner of New York, Dr. Gregory Tepper,” Courtney slid the documents across the table for everyone to get a better look.

After a short pause, she continued, “And this is Shayne’s medical form when he was admitted into Metro-General. This one was signed by the nurse in charge-”

“George Bach?” Olivia asked.

“Yup.”

Shayne slid the papers towards his legal team. With a growl, he said, “These are bullshit. 9mm rounds are – fuck – they don’t,” Shayne took a deep breath, “The damage they did to my family could not have been done by 9mm rounds. At the park, they were packing fucking automatic weaponry. 5.56mm, 7.62mm – serious heat. Not 9mm peashooters. These reports are doctored.”

Courtney pushed the medical form towards Shayne, “This mentions your surgery. The handwriting isn’t perfect, but it mentions digging bullet fragments out of your body. You weren’t shot _just_ in the head, right?”

“Yeah,” Shayne grumbled.

“This form mentions multiple gunshot wounds, from different calibers. That’s – I mean,” Courtney huffed a slight laugh, “This is something, right?”

“Bach didn’t mention the shots to the body,” Olivia muttered.

Courtney answered with a shrug, “When a guy gets shot in the head and survives, people tend to overlook the fact he got shot elsewhere too.”

“Point taken.”

Noah spoke up first, “If we can get the ME to corroborate Shayne’s story on the stand, we might have a shot.”

“We get him confused,” Keith agreed, “Set him up, get him thinkin’ about the _real_ reports…”

Olivia added, “Get him to crack. Corner him with the multiple caliber bullets that Shayne took in the same attack.”

“If we prove there in court that the reports are doctored, we could put doubt on the rest of the reports. The court doesn’t know how many other reports have been doctored,” Noah’s eyes lit with excitement as the pieces came together, “At best, it gets us a mistrial, maybe boots Reyes off the case. At the very least, it lends a lot of credibility to Shayne’s story. It’s a big point for the EED defense.”

“What if – like, we put Bach on the stand? For the bullets Shayne took and the medical form,” Olivia suggested.

“We can’t,” Courtney sighed, “I checked in on Bach before we published the article. He told me to go ahead but warned me he was skipping town. Said that he figured if we could track him down, the suits might do the same.”

Olivia bit her lip in frustration, “Shit. Well how admissible are these reports and the form in court?”

Keith and Noah looked at each other, then at the report.

“Technically, the medical form is in Shayne’s name,” Keith said, “And the autopsy reports are in his family’s name.”

Noah shook his head, “No, wait. Fruit of the poisonous tree doctrine.”

Courtney frowned, “What’s that?”

Keith leaned back in his chair as his own brow furrowed in thought, “Basically if evidence was obtained illegally, which it may have been, it’s not admissible in court.”

Olivia raised a hand up, “No – there’s that exception. Uh…” She shut her eyes for a moment, before excitably turning to the two lawyers, “The independent source doctrine!”

Courtney and Shayne looked at the three in confused silence as their expressions all began to light up.

Noah grinned, “Liv’s right, we as Leak and Grossman obtained these documents anonymously and legally. We’re untainted by the independent actor’s actions, however unlawful their search for these may be.”

“In short,” Keith spread his arms, “We good.”

Shayne found himself back to staring at the envelope as they discussed their next steps. The drab envelope looked familiar, but he couldn’t place his finger on it. The fact that the sender was somehow able to access Metro-General’s documents, along with that of the medical examiner, was questionable. Unless…

“Who sent you this?”

Courtney looked back at Shayne and reached for the envelope, “I dunno, but it came with a note.”

She drew the yellow sticky note free and extended it for Shayne to take. His eyes locked onto the name penned at the bottom. _Psychic_.

Shayne kept his expression neutral. His one week in Rikers taught him to be highly efficient in concealing any emotion that wasn’t murderous rage.

Deep down, Shayne was dumbstruck. Psychic was Damien’s callsign back in Afghanistan. Normally, Shayne would have divulged this without much care. Now that they were doing all the legal tiptoeing to keep the evidence admissible, Shayne thought twice. It would likely be a conflict of interest for Damien, his character witness and brother-in-arms, to be sending them evidence after obtaining them through sketchy means.

The less Leak and Grossman knew, the better. Shayne’s eyes went back to Courtney’s. She was watching him closely for any reactions he had to the note. Shayne didn’t want to lie to her. Since she wasn’t officially part of the legal team, he could probably spill the beans later. For now, though…

Shayne pursed his lips and slid the note back to her. “Weird.”

Before Courtney could question him, Olivia tapped the table softly as she thought aloud. She recounted what they had so far.

“So, we open with EED as our mitigating factor. Not much we can do to fight the ballistic reports tying the guns to Shayne. Witnesses are gonna mostly be bystanders because not many criminals survived Shayne’s attacks-”

“Knock ‘em down when we get the chance to cross examine ‘em,” Keith nodded. “We gotta hold on tight ‘til Reyes brings Tepper out, then we let Noah cross examine the dude.”

Noah hummed in agreement, “We get Tepper to crack on the stand, boost the validity of the EED defense. Then we start bringing in the expert witnesses, and close with the character witnesses.”

“Holy crap guys, do we actually have a complete defense strategy?” Olivia asked with an almost hysterical laugh.

“One month,” Noah raised a finger with a disgusted curl of his lip, “That’s the time Reyes gave us, and we’re burying her with it.”

“Mm-mm,” Keith shook his head, “That witch can throw all the curveballs she wants. Leak and Grossman are-” Keith stopped himself and raised a hand, “Leak, Grossman, and Sui, with the partnership of Ms. Karen Page, are ready for anything.”

“Hear, hear!”

They pounded at the table like excitable students from a debate club. Shayne watched them with a fond smile. He owed them all a round or two of beer when he got out on parole in twenty-five years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Thanks for making it to the end here! :) Let me know what you thought of this chapter. I lowkey *love* writing Bell. HE SHIPS IT. He's like the weird uncle I never had. But anyway, I came to my senses and realized publishing a 17k word chapter was absolute insanity. So I broke it into two, with this chapter featuring Shayne's struggles in prison (because I think I just enjoy writing Shayne suffering like the masochist I am), him growing more attached and protective over Courtney, and Leak and Grossman finalizing their defense strategy. I felt it worked best to keep the pacing in check, now that the next chapter will move on to final prep, and the start of the trial. But anyway, thanks so much for your continued support, and I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I did writing it. I'll catch you guys in the next update.


	9. The Trial of the Century

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shayne finds a source of comfort. Bell has a talk with him. Courtney does what she can to support Shayne and his legal team. Leak and Grossman defend Shayne as the trial of the century begins.

Shayne dropped down onto the stool with an exhausted grunt. He didn’t miss Bell giving a wink and a thumb up from beyond the door leading out of the visitation room.

“I’m so fucking tired, Courtney.” Shayne mumbled with his face in his hands. He could hear the little sound Courtney made when she pouted.

“It’s not – the fighting is-” Shayne scoffed as he extracted his face, “I can take those shitbags any day.”

Courtney eyed the bruises and cuts marring his face like she didn’t believe him.

“It’s the… the waiting. The anticipation,” Shayne looked at his knuckles, which never turned any color other than blue or purple, “It’s the constant vigilance. Every time I see an asshole packing a shiv, I need to be ready in case it’s for me and not some other unlucky chump.”

“In the Marines,” Shayne glanced off to the side as he recalled, “I had my unit. We were always on alert out beyond the wire, but we had each other.”

Shayne could vividly feel the hot sun beating down on them. The sand that got everywhere – he could taste it right now. He felt how his gear fit snug against his body, and the comforting weight of his ballistic helmet on his head. His boots on the rough terrain. The dependable rifle in his arms.

“It was easy being out there, y’know? Schoonover planned the ops with me and Billy, so we knew it’d go smoothly. I got Damien with his trauma kit and his steady rifle by my side. We could do _anything_.”

Courtney tilted her head with curiosity, “You never mentioned a Billy before.”

Shayne’s skittish eyes avoided Courtney’s as he nodded gently, “Yeah. Billy was the price I paid for that stupid medal Schoonover’s gonna talk about on the stand.”

“Shayne.” Courtney’s concerned, empathic brows met in a frown.

Shayne scanned the room to take his mind off his fallen friend. Dogs, Cartel, Irish – they’d been coming at him left and right. He was half expecting to be jumped in plain sight right here. But no, that couldn’t be the case. There were two COs standing watch on either corner of the visitation room. The red blips of the security camera’s lights continued to watch them. More guards stood watch behind either barred door leading in and out of the room.

It was a weekend, so there were more faces here than usual. Shayne surveyed the inmates here. There were a few familiar faces. The one that caught Shayne’s eye was the massive biker with the long beard. He wasn’t here with his family this time. He appeared to be meeting with other bikers from the club, a slight tension in the air. Shayne caught the man’s eye for a second. There was a mutual tightening of glares before they broke eye contact.

Courtney’s hands crept along the table to cover his own to offer whatever reassurance she could. Shayne brought his attention back towards the concerned woman before him.

If only Courtney knew just how much comfort her presence brought. Being with her was a temporary reprieve from Shayne’s hellish life as a detainee. She was shelter amidst the turbulent, animalistic environment. Around Courtney, Shayne could drop the Punisher scowl he wore around the clock. He could just _breathe_ around her.

Shayne’s bruised eyes took the time to study Courtney’s delicate face. He purposely committed her features to his spotty memory as best as he could for the first time. Courtney was quick to catch on to his stare but was oblivious to any rhyme or reason Shayne was looking at her. Instead she tilted her head slightly and looked right back at him. Her hands held his, steadfast and resolute. His anchor in the angry seas around him.

Courtney abruptly crossed her eyes while Shayne studied her. It elicited a surprised chuckle out of Shayne. He shook his head fondly, “So dumb.”

She scoffed in mock offense, placing one hand on her chest, “I’m so dumb? You’re the one hitting me with this staring contest outta nowhere.”

Shayne conceded to that and ducked his head for a moment. He wanted to really _remember_ her. For when his nightmares got bad and he frantically tugged at his cell doors at two in the morning. For when it took him a torturously long minute or two until he realized where he was, and that it was already too late for his family.

With a bite of his lip, and an ounce or two of hesitation, Shayne asked, “Could you, like… just tell me about your day?”

Courtney raised an eyebrow in question but held that slight frown on her face that meant she was listening.

“I just… I don’t wanna think about the walk back to my cell where I’m gonna be jumped by two guys, you know?” Shayne explained, “Tell me about a day in the life of Courtney Miller, maybe before I fired a twelve gauge at you.”

Courtney smiled, “I can do that.”

She cleared her throat and began, “Well, my alarm isn’t usually what wakes me,” Courtney appeared to choose her words with a purpose, “But as soon as I’m up, I get ready for my day. Put on some coffee on my Keurig, use the shower…”

“You own a Keurig?” Shayne raised a hand to pause her.

Courtney shrugged, “Yeah.”

“Dude, those little cups are bad for the environment,” Shayne found himself repeating a discussion he had with Nicole years ago.

“It’s a guilty pleasure and works for my quick mornings,” Courtney rolled her eyes, “Not all of us have time to like, use a French Press or whatever.”

Shayne’s brow scrunched in disbelief, “It’s not that hard to prep, use, and clean a French Press, Courtney.”

“Anyway,” Courtney waved him off, “I’m usually out the door after that…” A light went off above her head, “Oh! I do a press check on the .380 in my purse, _then_ I’m out the door.”

Shayne licked his lips subconsciously. Atomic Blonde and her .380.

Courtney missed the look he gave her as she went on, “I usually grab a bagel or whatever’s in the pantry at Smosh, then get to work.”

“Hold on, you drive on an empty stomach?”

Courtney shrugged once again, feeling the weight of Shayne’s concerned stare, “Yeah?”

“C’mon, you gotta get a bite to eat before driving.”

“Jeez, your paternal instincts are showing, man.”

Shayne snorted a quiet laugh but dropped the subject.

“At Smosh, my workload varies. I haven’t done as much work in front of the camera ever since-” Courtney cut herself off, “I, uh – I usually do more writing now. Some skit and satire stuff, but now I work more of the crime beat.”

It was impossible to miss her sudden shift, but Shayne knew not to press her. It seemed like a sensitive topic. If Courtney wanted to tell him, she would.

“What about lunch?”

“Sometimes the office orders in, or a couple of us head to one of the nearby food spots. Hell’s Kitchen’s got lots of those.” Courtney looked off in thought for a moment, like she was visualizing the various meals she and her friends picked up.

“After lunch it’s back to work – writing, editing, sometimes heading out to talk to informants-”

“Or defense attorneys?”

“Bingo,” Courtney smiled, “After work, I head home. If I had a busy or stressful day, I like to clean my gun. It’s… maybe it’s weird, but it’s really relaxing to me.”

Shayne bit his lip again at the image of Courtney field stripping and cleaning her weapon with nimble, practiced fingers.

To avoid acknowledging the fact that he found Courtney’s firearm handling kind of hot, he asked, “Aluminum cleaning rods?”

She nodded, “Yeah they came with the maintenance kit I got.”

Shayne’s nose scrunched with displeasure, “No way. You should switch to carbon fiber, especially if you clean often. You could damage the rifling of the barrel.”

Courtney’s eyes widened by a degree and she nodded, “I did not know that. I’ll try and pick some up one of these days.”

After smiling at Shayne’s approving thumbs up, she continued, “Dinner’s usually takeout. I’m too pooped to cook most nights. Then I camp out on my couch and go over any leftover writing I need to do.”

“Workaholic much?”

There was the slightest sadness in Courtney’s soulful green eyes when she shrugged, “Something like that.”

Shayne tried, “It help you sleep?”

Courtney tilted her head and nodded after a beat, “Kinda, yeah.”

Shayne recalled their conversation in the hospital weeks ago. There was that brief moment in which she admitted the Metro-General chase wasn’t her first rodeo. If he connected the dots, this probably meant she didn’t sleep well because of whatever that first incident was. Overworking herself was her way of knocking herself out at night.

What Shayne wouldn’t give to have something to overwork himself with in the evenings in his cell. Back before he was arrested, he was doing the same thing, in a sense. Shayne worked until morning hunting and pursuing the criminals responsible for the massacre. That way, he was usually too dead tired in his sleep to be haunted by his nightmares.

Later that quiet, lonely night, Shayne fell asleep in his cell with nothing but the quiet drip of his leaky pipes to keep him company. Like clockwork, he woke in the dead hours of the morning. Nicole and Lizzy’s names were caught in his throat, and it took an agonizing minute or two of white-hot panic until reality set in.

Shayne dropped back into his bunk in defeat. Overseas, with sporadic bursts of gunfire snapping in the direction of his base, he slept far easier. Back then, the thought of Nicole and Lizzy brought him strength and comfort. He thought of what it would be like to be back home. Both the big things and the little things. Everything about his family made the fight halfway across the world easier. Including sleeping.

Shayne thought about the kisses he’d give the two before Nicole brought Lizzy to school. He thought of how well Lizzy got along with her Uncle Damien whenever he visited. He thought of how Schoonover’s stoic face broke for the first time when Shayne announced him as Lizzy’s godfather. He thought of reading Lizzy One Batch, Two Batch and how much she loved that goddamn book. He thought of that ridiculous skimpy _soldier_ _uniform_ Nicole bought as a joke and as a treat for Valentine’s Day.

Now, Shayne couldn’t even think of drawing those memories forward. They all hurt too goddamn much and made him want to bloody his fist against a wall. The only time it didn’t hurt talking about his family was with Courtney.

Shayne’s hazy mind wandered, as all minds do at three in the morning. He thought back to his conversation with Courtney, and how intimately she broke down her routine.

His idle musings led him to imagining what her apartment looked like. Shayne conjured up an assortment of furniture, slowly piecing together a complete image in his mind. Courtney spent a lot of time on her couch, so Shayne would bet that it was a really nice couch. He wondered how it felt compared to the godforsaken mattress he had to contend with.

It was a simple vignette in his mind, blurred and cloudy around the edges. He could picture himself on the sofa, coffee cup in hand, morning light shining in through the curtains. Shayne was an early riser. He’d probably be awake before Courtney. Maybe he’d have a hot cup waiting for her by the time she got out of the shower. Real coffee too, not that Keurig crap.

He could cook her a simple breakfast. A classic bacon and eggs, perhaps. Or maybe Courtney was a pancake girl? In either case, he was too much of a dad to let Courtney go to work without a bite to eat.

Courtney was a busy girl. He wondered if she liked walking to get food so she could clear her head. Or maybe she liked staying in more, so she could get more work done. Shayne could imagine walking her to a nearby eatery to join her for lunch. Just as clearly, he could imagine picking up hers and the office’s orders while he was out.

Shayne thought of her .380, and how she cleaned it to ease her mind. He could handle dinner while she worked on that. Cook her up something simple and homey to welcome her back. Or perhaps he could just order in that ridiculous pineapple and jalapeno pizza on her behalf.

He wondered if Courtney got cold easily like Nicole and Lizzy did. Whenever they had movie nights, the two would be bundled up in a blanket, while Shayne half-stuck out of the thing. Shayne could see Courtney wrapped up in a blanket with a bottle of beer on her coffee table. She’d have that laptop propped up while she worked away on whatever it was she busied herself with. He saw himself bouncing ideas off of her to help get the creative juices flowing.

When Courtney retired for the night, Shayne could picture himself crashing on the sofa, stretched out and comfortable.

He could also see himself lying with her in bed, occupying the far side where he didn’t dare to so much as think of touching her.

The thoughts eventually brought peace to his rattled mind, and Shayne found himself drifting off to a dreamless sleep.

Shayne woke up the next morning feeling like a dumb, insolent, pathetic piece of shit. There was no scenario in the world in which he would co-habit a space with Courtney Miller. What the fuck was he thinking? With a grumble under his breath, and his scowling mask back in place, he went about his day. He resolved he wouldn’t do it again. He didn’t deserve Courtney Miller. He certainly didn’t deserve to _think_ about being her – her what? Her _roommate_? Shayne didn’t know what to make of the scattered vignettes his broken mind invented.

His resolve didn’t last long. After a shitty day of eating more goddamn margarine, putting another inmate in the ground, shooing off Bell’s attempts to gossip in his ear, and listening to his leaky pipes, Shayne woke up yet again in rabid throes and delirium, with his family’s bloodied bodies in his eyes.

The tranquil idea of co-habitation with Courtney was the only thing that could lull him into a quiet slumber. There were no implications of their connection to one another in the vignettes. They simply shared a home. Shayne figured maybe that’s what he longed for: _home_.

It was all too fresh and raw for Shayne. His mind was too broken, ragged, and tired to process complex feelings and emotions.

All he knew was that Courtney was exceptionally important to him. She brought him peace. She was the lighthouse that guided him through the storm of his life.

* * *

Shayne dropped to one knee. His ragged breaths were hot and sharp out his mouth. His bruised fists shook from the adrenaline. His glazed eyes vacantly bounced back and forth between the two dead inmates. With a pained grunt, Shayne pushed himself back up, stumbling back a few steps and bumping into the rec room’s bookshelf. He raised his fists up defensively in case anyone else came at him.

No one did.

The rest of the inmates in the dim rec room kept their distance from Shayne and the two bodies quickly pooling blood. With more than a little anxiety, they watched Shayne, wary he was going to jump them in retaliation for the ambush the two dead men set. The TV blared away; the characters onscreen blissfully unaware of the grisly scene in the room. Shayne looked back at them with bared teeth, a hysterical taunt at the tip of his tongue. He opened his mouth to yell at the onlookers, when a piercing voice cut through his mild delirium.

“Topp!”

Shayne’s head snapped back to the rec room’s entrance.

Bell stood there with crossed arms and an irritated frown. He tapped his foot expectantly, waiting for Shayne to get moving. Shayne spat blood onto the ground and stumbled on towards the exit.

“Back to the hole, Bell?” Shayne grumbled.

“We’re goin’ for a walk, Topp.” Bell strode on, not bothering to turn to Shayne.

Shayne wordlessly complied, taking the time to assess the damage instead. Shayne had one week to go until the trial. His prison body count had now reached eight, counting the addition of these two Mexican Cartel enforcers. Shayne could beat shitbags into the dirt until they didn’t get back up. That wasn’t a problem. Like he told Courtney before, the problem was the constant vigilance. The only reason Shayne was walking with a slight stagger in his step was because he let his guard down for all of two seconds. He was picking a book from the selection in the rec room when the enforcers smashed a wooden chair over his head.

Shayne ran his hands across his stained orange jumpsuit, finding small tears where he’d received minor cuts. He checked his face, finding nothing more than a bruise or two. His head hurt like hell, though. Shayne had basic first aid knowledge like anyone else in his platoon. He was no doctor, but he was fairly sure he didn’t have a concussion.

Shayne missed a step and placed a hand on the wall to steady himself.

He _hopefully_ didn’t have a concussion.

Shayne grunted and pushed off the wall to continue following Bell. He spoke up when the turns they took around the dark hallways grew unfamiliar.

“Where are we going?”

“Shut up, Topp.”

With a frown, Shayne kept walking as he mentally mapped the turns they were taking. In the weeks he’d known Bell, the guy never passed up the chance to talk his ear off. To be _told_ to stop talking instead of badgered to open up was disconcerting. He almost missed Bell’s incessant teasing and chattering.

Bell led Shayne up a flight of stairs and passed another drab hallway or two until he arrived at a door. Roughly pushing it open, Bell revealed the catwalks overlooking the yard. The inmates below worked out, played ball, and carried on with their lives, unaware of their presence. Shayne glanced up, catching the tall watchtower that cast a dark shadow over them. With a few more looks here and there, Shayne surmised there weren’t any cameras overlooking their position either. It was a blind spot.

Bell stepped forward to cross his arms over the metal railing as he looked out at the yard. Unsure of what to do with himself, Shayne followed his cue and leaned on the railing as well. Most people would be highly alarmed if a correctional officer took them to some secluded blind spot within the prison. But this was Bell. As weird as the guy was, he was pretty harmless. If anything, Shayne knew he owed Bell a solid or two. Thanks to Bell, he never spent more than a day in the hole for the aftermaths of his self-defense killings.

The older man took a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and tugged one out. He wordlessly offered the pack to Shayne, who shook his head. Shayne focused instead on enjoying the cool autumn breeze without having to worry about a sharpened toothbrush being jammed into his neck. With a half-shrug, Bell lit the stick and took a drag. After letting the silence linger for a moment, Bell finally explained himself.

“Someone wants you dead, Topp.”

Shayne scoffed out a chuckle, “Yeah, Bell, I kind of figured that one out myself.”

Bell turned his gravely serious face to Shayne. With an uncharacteristically solemn voice, he said, “There’s a price on your head, son.”

Shayne’s jaw clenched. He nodded once, “Figures.”

“Rikers gets killings all the time. That’s just a part of it.” Bell took a long drag, “But we’ve been hearin’ things. Cartel, Irish, Dogs, it ain’t just retaliation they’re after. Someone outside is payrolling this. Whoever gets your head is gettin’ a ticket out of here, and a nice sum of money.”

It had Reyes’ stink all over it.

“We pick up chatter, that ain’t unusual, yeah?” Bell blew out a puff of smoke as he watched Shayne nod, “But now I hear the warden askin’ the other COs if anyone’s gotten to Topp yet.”

Shayne rubbed his hands together in unease, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He stared out at the wide expanse of the prison yard. “Everyone after that money, huh?”

Bell took another drag before answering, “Topp, the warden’s a fat cat that likes his bribes. If he thinks he can get a slice o’ the pie by helpin’ some shitbags stab you dead, he’s gonna help ‘em.”

“Why are you telling me this, Bell?” Shayne grunted. In the weeks he’d known him, Bell had been reasonable and civil, if not sometimes suffocating. Until now, Shayne couldn’t get an angle on him. “Hm? Why the warning?”

“Semper Fi, jackass.”

A quiet wave of shame washed over him. Shayne hadn’t even thought of that. They were bound by their service. Bell held Shayne’s service in high regard, whether he’d admit it out loud or not. Shayne couldn’t think of any other reason Bell took an interest in him. He was a fool to disregard it to begin with. Shayne settled for looking Bell in the eyes as he nodded, “Oorah, Marine.”

“I like you, Topp,” Bell said between puffs, “You put shitbags in the dirt. Most o’ those clowns that came at you were real troublemakers. I ain’t sad to see ‘em gone.”

Bell was silent for a moment, until he spared Shayne another look and said, “I don’t think you belong here…” He trailed off as he looked out at the yard.

“What?” Shayne scoffed, “Am I not piling bodies up fast enough for your liking?”

Bell waved a hand and chuckled, “Nah. Look at yourself, Topp. You’re soft.”

Shayne grimaced, “I’m not _soft_.”

“Yeah, you are. You’re real good at puttin’ on your Punisher face, for sure. But I see you, Topp,” Bell pointed at Shayne with his cigarette, “That ain’t you, is it?”

Shayne stared at the dried blood on his palms and the bruises on his knuckles. His gaze traveled further down at the red splatters of blood on his orange jumpsuit. There were simpler days of unstained blue jeans and tie-dyed shirts, laughs, and jokes all around when he was home from deployment. Those days seemed so far away; they may as well have been as fictional as his peculiar mental images of making Courtney coffee in the morning.

“I dunno who I am anymore, Bell,” Shayne muttered, “Sometimes, I think Shayne Topp is dead and I’m just some angry asshole controlling his body.”

“Jesus, you’re a dramatic little shit, ain’t ya?” Bell scrunched his stubbly face up at that.

Shayne huffed a laugh. As dramatic as it sounded, Shayne wasn’t lying. He was spending his days with an angry sneer on his face, and his guard up against the contingent of gangs that wanted him dead. He was spending his nights getting little to no sleep because his family’s mangled bodies were the only thing that could enter his mind. He was a mess. He lived watching the clocks and counting down the minutes until he saw Courtney or Keith, Noah, and Olivia.

“You, Topp, I think you’re a good guy who’s lost too much. I think you need to grieve without a gun in your hand.”

“That last bit’s kinda poetic, Bell. Come up with that yourself?”

Bell gave Shayne a smirk before flicking his cigarette butt off the catwalk. He lit up another and appeared to chew his words over for a long moment before he spoke, “Your family ain’t comin’ back, son. No number o’ shitbags you put in the ground is gonna change that.”

Shayne felt the heat rising up in his chest at the mention of his family. “Bell…” Shayne warned.

“I know we don’t get to pick the things that fix us, Topp. I’m just sayin’,” The older man took a long drag and looked at Shayne meaningfully, “Have an _after_.”

Shayne squinted at Bell, “An after? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I ain’t tellin’ you to move on or bury your family in the past, Topp – don’t get me wrong. What I’m sayin’ is you gotta find that goddamn pot o’ gold at the end o’ the shit-stained rainbow you’re ridin’. When ya find it, you hold on with two hands, son. You don’t let go.”

That was just the thing. Shayne didn’t know how he could ever come to terms with his family’s death while the people responsible were still out there. He was shackled up in this shithole of an island and would be here either for life or for two and a half decades. All he had were Courtney, Keith, Noah, and Olivia to settle the score with Reyes and whoever else was involved in the massacre.

As much as he believed in all four of them, Shayne felt it was bleak. There wasn’t any light at the end of the goddamn tunnel for people like him. There was no pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. Dodging sharpened toothbrushes and chairs to the face, three square meals a day with a heaping serving of margarine and a tiny cell – that was his future. There was no _after_.

As if sensing his dour mood, Bell wrapped an arm around Shayne’s shoulder and gave him a rough pat on the arm. Shayne tightened his glare at Bell, but all the bite was gone. He instead watched Bell give him that trademarked wicked grin of his.

“Maybe you should schedule a conjugal visit with blondie, eh? Go make some beautiful blonde babies and name one after ol’ Uncle Bell, hm? How does that sound? I’ll even help you set it up.”

Shayne shrugged Bell’s arm off and grimaced, “Oh my God, Bell, you sick fuck.”

Bell cackled at his expense. Once he was sure Shayne was thoroughly humiliated by his insinuations, he motioned to the door. Bell let out one last puff as he spoke.

“Go on and scram now. Don’t tell anyone where you’ve been.”

Shayne paused at the door and looked at the old Marine staring down at the yard, “Thanks, Bell.”

Bell waved a hand without turning back, “Watch your ass, son.”

* * *

To say that getting an impartial jury for _The People v Shayne Topp_ was difficult, was an understatement. They filed in, one after the other, voicing their opinions when prompted. No doubt Courtney’s article had evened the scales. Even if the article hadn’t been published, the search for a jury would’ve been just as difficult, but mainly due to the fact that they all thought Shayne belonged in the ground. Once the preliminary questions were out of the way, a broad one was pitched.

“What do you think of Shayne Topp?”

“I think the guy’s a hero. He’s doing what the cops can’t. I think he-”

“-belongs in the ground. People like this? They just want an excuse to get their hands dirty. Topp-”

“-was betrayed by the very government he served. The truth needs to come out. This city-”

“-is a warzone because of him! This isn’t the wild west; people can’t go around killing-”

“-criminals. Yeah, that’s right, those criminals deserved what they got coming to them. They-”

“-deserved a fair trial like anyone else. Topp is not judge, jury, and executioner. And he certainly deserves-”

“-justice for what happened to his family. You read the article, Topp was done dirty. I just-”

“-moved into this city. Now I want to move my family out. We-”

“-need men like Shayne Topp. Those Cartel guys killed my nan, and the cops didn’t do squat. Topp-”

“-is a degenerate psychopath. I’ll rest easy knowing he’s behind bars.”

The jury selection process took nearly an entire week, and some two hundred individuals passing through the courtroom’s doors. The trouble they had was to be expected, because it was impossible to find a New Yorker that hadn’t heard of Shayne or read Courtney’s article. Everyone had one strong opinion or another about the man. Judge Batzer looked ready to cry from relief when both the defense and the prosecution agreed on the selected jurors.

As the court date grew closer, Leak and Grossman were able get in touch with Schoonover. He was apparently still a busy man, so emailing was the best they could do until he was scheduled to testify in court. He confirmed that he would share whatever declassified information he had regarding Shayne’s awarding of the Navy Cross.

Haas also had a busy schedule, and Shayne’s legal team had to deal with just coordinating with him over the phone. Haas said he had a story to tell that would, in his words, show the jury that causing harm and killing were never Shayne’s first thoughts.

After a little poking around, Courtney placed faces to their names. Since they corresponded by email and phone, they had no idea what the two men even looked like. Courtney was able to identify them both as men found in the pictures in Shayne’s house. Schoonover was the older soldier with the stern frown. Haas was Santa the corpsman, with his streak of dyed blue hair.

Now that Leak and Grossman had a solid defensive strategy for the trial, Courtney was back to her own devices for the most part. There wouldn’t be many strong leads cropping up for the Topp family’s murder until after Noah got Dr. Tepper to crack. Or, if this _Psychic_ decided to send them any more incriminating documents. So, Courtney continued her search for Max.

She found him at the fifth shelter. After the wild goose chase led her literally all over New York City, she found him in Global Strays, not far from where she started in Hell’s Kitchen. Max was a timid sweetheart after all. At first, when the staff at the shelter led her over to Max’s spot, the dog bared his teeth and backed up into the far corner of his enclosure. The treat lured the dark Pitbull back over to her. All it took was a sniff of her hands, which Courtney assumed smelled like Shayne from her last visit, and the overgrown pup was all friendly with her. Max whimpered like a little baby when it was time for her to leave.

Mere days before the trial of the century began, Courtney sat with Shayne in the public visitation room. Shayne’s trigger finger was back to its anxious tapping, now more than ever. He was still sporting a split lip and had a black eye. Shayne insisted it wasn’t as bad as it looked. The other guy didn’t come out of it much better, as was usually the case. Courtney’s heart ached for him anyway, like it always did.

“I found him.” Courtney declared.

“Found… who?”

“Max!” Courtney grinned, the triumph loud and clear in her voice.

Shayne’s eyes visibly lit up, “No. Seriously?”

Courtney gave Shayne a smug nod, “Took me a while, but I found the shelter he’s holed up in. He’s a real sweetie like you said.”

Shayne leaned back, a dumbstruck chuckle escaping his lips. He gave her a look as he said, “God, Courtney, I dunno how you do it.”

“I did tell you I was resourceful. Did you doubt me, Shayne?”

Shayne pursed his lips and shook his head, “Not for a second, ma’am.”

Courtney bit back her smile. At first, she tried to get him to drop the _ma’am_ business. But now, Courtney couldn’t deny the little flutter in her chest at the endearing title.

“What’re you gonna do next?” Shayne asked.

“Well, he likes me. Or, he likes the smell of you on my hands,” Courtney ignored Shayne’s befuddled expression, “So I’m thinking I might adopt him. I’ve been wanting a dog for a while now, so I figured – might as well, right?”

Courtney didn’t miss the twinkle in Shayne’s eyes when he gave his approving nod, “Max is a good boy. I’m sure you two will take good care of each other. I’m happy to hear he’ll be out of the system.”

“It might take a little while – getting the papers in order and all that. I need to talk to my building’s management too. Pets are allowed but we gotta apply for a permit,” Courtney tapped her chin in thought, “Need to buy a bed, food, toys, the works.”

“He likes tennis balls,” Shayne advised.

Courtney could imagine Shayne from a month ago – dressed up with his bulletproof vest and all – playing fetch with Max, and she was powerless to fight the little laugh that came up. Shayne watched her with some degree of confusion. Another part of him appeared to be used to her giggling at his expense, and he didn’t question it. To fight back the giggle fit, Courtney cleared her throat, and nodded her head in acknowledgment. She got back to business, the original reason she was visiting today.

“You’re gonna need a suit,” Courtney told him. Leak and Grossman tasked her with figuring that out with Shayne, while they finalized their case. Marching the defendant into the courtroom in his orange jumpsuit would be highly improper. It would garner bias in the prosecution’s favor and went against the prospect of innocent until proven guilty.

“What? Orange not my color?” Shayne offered a tired smile.

“Doesn’t look bad, honestly,” Courtney chuckled, “But you know how courtroom decorum is.”

Shayne nodded and gave a quiet grunt of understanding, “You can get a couple from my house. I’m giving you permission now, so no need to worry about breaking and entering. Again.”

Courtney scoffed and turned her head away to hide the embarrassed smile on her face. She was quick to fire back, “The mass murderer is giving me shit for breaking and entering?”

Shayne gave a fond roll of his eyes and leaned back, “But anyway, I trust you to handle the clothes. No need to get so much. I’ll just wash them during my shift.”

“Okay. Sounds good.” After a moment’s thought, Courtney asked, “Are you nervous?”

“I…” Shayne looked away and took a moment to scan the room. “I dunno, Courtney. I don’t have time to be nervous. If I’m nervous, I’m not ready for the next asshole with a sharpened toothbrush.”

The words came out of his mouth, even as his leg bounced up and down, and his trigger finger’s staccato rhythm filled the space between them.

“We’re gonna be fine, okay?” Courtney gave him a reassuring smile, “We’re gonna blow Reyes off this case before you know it.”

With a slow exhale, Shayne faintly nodded, “All the pieces are in place for now, I guess.” There was a wistful look in his eyes when he added quietly, “Wait and hope.”

* * *

It was the insomnia that convinced Courtney to go out and pick up Shayne’s suits at one in the morning.

She woke up with a gasp that night and fresh tears stinging her eyes. It was the same damn dream. It was bad enough seeing the Topp family gunned down, but she also had to contend with the guilt of seeing herself as some kind of fucking family friend that she didn’t deserve to be.

Her sadness turned into frustration, and then white-hot anger. There were so many things and people to be angry at, like Reyes and whoever else was responsible. But most of all she was angry with herself. With her damned mind and its perversion of the Topp family by sticking her in there as if she belonged. Courtney split her knuckles open on her bathroom wall’s tiles when she stepped in to wash her face. The stinging sensation of the water running across her knuckles distracted her from the seething anger that bubbled up in her chest.

Courtney sat at her dining table with a single lamp on. She stripped and cleaned her .380 in an attempt to clear her mind. The comforting weight of steel in her hand and the oil in the air was therapeutic. She didn’t want to go back to sleep. She didn’t need to see more of what she hadn’t earned the right to see.

By the time she reassembled the pistol, she figured she could at least make herself productive if she was avoiding sleep. With her car keys in hand, and her gun in her purse, she set out.

Shayne’s house was located in one of the nicer parts of town, far away from her neighborhood in Hell’s Kitchen. But at this hour, traffic was negligible, so the drive wasn’t bad. The mostly open roads helped ease her mind.

The house stood as silent as ever when she exited her car. Courtney had permission this time, so she ditched the sneaking. As sketchy as it was entering through the broken back door at one in the morning, she had her paralegal ID on her. She would (hopefully) be fine.

Courtney flipped the light switch on. Partly to convince herself she didn’t look like a burglar in the night. Partly to convince herself that her reason for being here was perfectly legal and valid (which it was). Courtney peeked out the window. The neighbors were also probably all asleep too. Nobody to report her for trespassing.

It was strange seeing the place with the lights on. She was quite literally seeing it in a new light. Courtney’s gaze wandered over to the living room, and it matched up for the most part with her first dream. It was domestic and homey, and she could imagine how lovely it once was.

She could see Nicole and Lizzy on the piano. Schoonover swirling ice around his glass of whiskey. Haas’ arrival catching everyone’s attention. Courtney stepped away before she could picture Shayne and herself standing to the side, admiring the gathering.

Courtney made her way upstairs and into the master bedroom. She kept her metaphorical blinders up along the way, trying not to distract herself with all the mementos and memories the house held. The bedroom was a modest size. A large bed took up most of the space, with matching end tables and lamps on either side. Shayne’s acoustic guitar leaned against one end table. Courtney spotted the closets, but the bookshelf next to it caught her attention.

It was pretty well stocked with an assortment of fiction and nonfiction books. Her eyes roamed the spines, taking the titles in. Towards one of the lower tiers, she could make out the complete Harry Potter series. Lizzy had such diverse interests; Courtney wouldn’t have been surprised if Shayne planned to read Harry Potter to her once. She gulped and locked the thought away before it could dig roots in her mind. She caught a few other familiar titles on the shelves, including a large collection of classics.

_The Count of Monte Cristo_ was here too, and it felt fitting, if not a little ironic. Courtney ran her finger along the paperback’s spine. Shayne’s words from earlier suddenly clicked.

“All human wisdom is contained in these two words – wait and hope.” Courtney muttered to herself as she carefully pulled the book from the shelf. She read it for school ages ago, but it was one of the quotes that stuck. Courtney wiped the dust from the cover and looked it over. It was still in pretty good condition.

Courtney spared a look at the rest of the books in the shelf and wondered if all of these were Shayne’s. With a final glance at _The Count of Monte Cristo_ , Courtney placed the book in her bag. Inmates were allowed books. Shayne would probably enjoy having some familiar reading material to help pass the time.

Not wishing to loiter longer than she needed to, Courtney headed for the closet. She picked out some neutral tops, a few suit jackets, and their matching pairs of slacks. Courtney did her best not to dwell on the cute assortment of dresses Nicole had a penchant for.

Courtney left soon after, loading the clothing into her car in the dead of night. She resolved to poke Shayne next time to give her a wish list of books she could send over.

* * *

“All rise now. Court is in session.”

Courtney got up to her feet. She stood with Shayne to her right. The man’s prison stubble had been shaved clean. The bruises on his face were just starting to subside. His short dirty blonde hair was neatly styled. He was dressed sharply in his grey suit and looking like a snack.

Courtney’s mind blanked.

She turned her pink face away from the oblivious man as he stared vacantly ahead, his face a mask of stoicism.

To her left were Olivia, Noah, and Keith. They cleaned up just as nicely. Keith and Noah wore much more neutral suits than their usual – they had to convey a certain image and mood in court and all that. Olivia was looking sharp in a black blazer over a peach blouse, and a matching black pencil skirt.

Over to the far left of the courtroom was the prosecution team, consisting of DA Reyes and Assistant DA Tower. The gallery behind them was packed full of people wanting to witness the so-called _trial of the century_. The warm lights from overhead refracted off the dark wood paneling on the walls, lighting up the dull grey tiles on the floor. It looked just like it did in the movies, Courtney mused.

Judge Cynthia Batzer took her seat at the head of the courtroom, and everyone followed suit. Shayne’s cuffs clinked against the table as he sat down. Courtney didn’t miss Noah’s hands wringing when he heard the sound. When Shayne was first escorted in wearing his suit and his shackles, Noah was just about ready to throw hands with Reyes or whoever’s idea it was to keep Shayne cuffed. This kind of thing left a negative impression on the jury and immediately built bias in favor of the prosecution. Reyes simply argued that Topp was a danger to everyone around him, and it was in everyone’s best interests that he remained cuffed.

The judge gave the jury her instructions, as per usual court proceedings. Shayne’s quiet “Hey,” caught Courtney’s attention.

She turned her head to the impeccably dressed man. Shayne was shooting her a concerned glare, as if he wasn’t the one whose face was covered in cuts and bruises more often than not.

“What happened there?” Shayne’s eyes went to the split and bruised knuckles on her right hand.

_Oh, I went into a brief and bloody rage because I was overwhelmed by the shame and guilt of my nightmares portraying me as a friend to your family, which I have not earned the right to._

Courtney cleared her throat, “Nothing.”

Shayne squinted at her, the ghost of a smile on his lips, “You beat up some other blonde asshole with a shotgun?”

Courtney bit her lip to keep her own smile down. They were in court for God’s sake. Now was not the time. “Why? You jealous?”

Shayne ducked his head to conceal his smile just as Judge Batzer’s voice called on the prosecution to give their opening statement.

Reyes stood up, stepping around her table to take the floor with bold strides. “Ladies and Gentlemen of the Jury…”

“Shayne Topp brutally tortured and murdered fifty-six people,” Reyes shot a venomous look Shayne’s way, “Fifty-six that we know of.”

“He took the law into his own hands and acted as judge, jury, and most violent executioner,” Reyes spoke with ferocity as she stepped close to the jury’s well. She motioned to them as she spoke, “It is up to each and every one of you to take back this city-”

“Objection, Your Honor!” Noah was quick to bark out, “This is highly improper! The prosecution is argumentative and over-personalizing the jury.”

“Sustained. Ms. Reyes, please stick to the prosecution’s case.” The Judge responded.

Reyes scowled for a second before she continued.

Keith clapped Noah on the back, who turned his shit-eating grin to his team.

“You will hear that the defendant’s victims were criminals. But they are not on trial here today. Justice does not belong in the hands of a man like Shayne Topp. Justice is served here, in a court of law.”

Reyes took a few steps, allowing a brief pause before continuing, “This city has no place for lawless vigilantes like Shayne Topp. By this trial’s end, you’ll see that this man is no _hero_ ,” She sneered in Shayne’s direction, “He’s a mass-murderer, and he is guilty.”

“Over the duration of this trial, we will bring witnesses to the stand…”

It took several minutes to get through the rest of Reyes’ opening statement. She went on to list the witnesses they intended to call in, and what they would testify. She mentioned the evidence that piled up against Shayne. She spoke of the ballistic reports that tied him to the murders. Reyes concluded by declaring that by the end of the trial, there would be an insurmountable amount of evidence to put a dangerous man like Topp behind bars.

“Mr. Leak, are you prepared to make your opening statement?” The Judge called.

Keith was the assigned lead trial counsel for the case. He gave a firm nod as he got to his feet, “I am, Your Honor.”

“Ladies and Gentlemen of the Jury,” Keith stepped out into the open, “The defendant, Mr. Topp, has been called many things. Vigilante, criminal, murderer, psycho with a gun. Some of y’all even started callin’ him _The Punisher_ like he’s some action star from the 90s.”

It earned a low chuckle from the jurors and the gallery. Courtney didn’t miss Reyes’ eyeroll and the tight line she drew her lips into.

“But I want to tell you about the kind of man Mr. Topp is,” Keith motioned in Shayne’s direction, “Mr. Topp was a Staff Sergeant in the United States Marine Corps, up until his recent discharge. He served his country and fought for our freedom for nearly ten years. This man has been awarded the Navy Cross, second only to the Medal of Honor, for his outstanding heroism on the field of battle.”

Keith took a few steps towards the jury but kept his distance, consciously staying out of the well so Reyes didn’t have an excuse to call a pointless objection.

“Mr. Topp was a husband and a father. When he came home, our boy Mr. Topp, he wanted nothing more than to pick up his life. But – oh, he didn’t come home at all. You see, Ladies and Gentlemen of the Jury, Mr. Topp’s wife, and his young little girl were brutally murdered right before his very eyes

“Nobody, not the police, and,” Keith turned his head to Reyes with a scoff, “Certainly not the District Attorney, stepped up to make it right.”

Courtney could sense Shayne tensing up next to her. They knew this was coming, but whenever the fact of the matter came up, it always took its emotional toll on Shayne. She placed her hand on his arm to give him a reassuring squeeze. Shayne’s dark eyes lightened a fraction when they found hers. He gave a grateful nod.

“Mr. Topp never came home. He traded one warzone for another.”

Keith let the words simmer among the crowd before he marched on, “This trial is about more than these murders, mm-mm,” Keith hummed, “This trial is about the failure of the justice system, and how Mr. Topp is being used as a pawn to cover its mistake.”

“This trial,” Keith proclaimed, “Is about a father, a husband, a decorated war hero. It’s about how the mitigating factor of Extreme Emotional Disturbance has skewed the mind of Mr. Topp, ever since he saw his family taken away from him.”

“You see, Ladies and Gentlemen of the Jury, we are not talking about something that happened to Mr. Topp. We are talking about something that _is happening_ to Mr. Topp. This tragedy that has fallen on the Topp family is not in the past, oh no. It is very much current and present in Mr. Topp’s mind.”

After allowing the theme to settle among the Jury, Keith continued on, “The prosecution wants blood. But to get it, they must prove their case beyond reasonable doubt. So, I’d like to ask everyone gathered here today to simply keep an open mind.”

With a charming smile, Keith got down to gritty details, “We will be calling several expert witnesses to the stand, and they will show that…”

Keith went through the rest of his opening statement with little issue or controversy, going over the key points their defense case would cover. Courtney and the rest of the team watched Keith with proud eyes as he returned to his seat.

The rest of the day, the prosecution called several witnesses to the stand. These were miscellaneous civilians who were present at the time Shayne executed his attacks on the gangs. They spun their stories and told their testimonies. Some were believable. Others sounded far too fabricated. Courtney observed that Keith had a knack for distinguishing which witnesses were which.

As the prosecution performed their direct examination, Keith would have Noah and Olivia lean in. He then pointed out which witnesses they should spend more time on, and which he felt were more solid. Keith’s intuition was sharp as a knife. Olivia would slide her notes for the two lawyers to see, and she gave her own input of which arguments they could use.

When Keith and Olivia provided direction, Noah brought the pain. As Reyes or Tower returned to their table, Noah got to work. He cross examined the witnesses on the stand. Noah started them off easy. Within the first minute, the witness would fully be onboard his _Yes Train_. Once Noah had them right where he wanted them, he hit them with the hard questions, and the testimonies crumbled for all to see. The gallery murmured amongst themselves as the phony stories came to light. With a satisfied smirk, Noah would ask the court to make a mark of the shattered stories in the transcriptions for future use.

The first few days of the trial passed similarly. Shayne was marched in, occasionally with a new bruise or two. The prosecution put more witnesses on the stand. Some had better statements than others, and the defense didn’t bother cracking down on them too hard. Thus far, the jury was quiet and didn’t seem to be leaning too strongly on one side or the other. The gallery was another story. They ate up the drama of every witness’ emotional testimony and every brutal cross examination that Noah or Keith performed. Judge Batzer, more than once, had to slam her gavel and call for order as the gallery got rowdy. It wasn’t surprising, considering the stakes.

After each day in court, Shayne would be returned to Rikers. The gang occasionally convoyed with the prison transport vehicle so they could debrief with Shayne in Rikers. Other times, they simply went their separate ways to recover from the tiring day. Courtney passed by the shelter a few more times to visit Max as she was getting the papers ready. The dog was quickly growing attached to her, and eagerly chewed on the toys she left with him. Max never failed to howl when she left for the day. She’d already purchased a bed, dog food, more toys, and the works. She was also still waiting on her building’s approval for the permit.

In the succeeding days, Reyes began bringing out the more solid evidence. All the guns with Shayne’s prints, and the ballistic reports were coming out. Leak and Grossman knew this part was an uphill battle for them. They huddled together close as Reyes and Tower spoke at length about how the evidence directly implicated Shayne in the shootings. Keith and Noah cross examined the ballistics experts sparingly, and never bit off more than they could chew. They had to play this part smart and avoid swaying the case even further into the prosecution’s favor.

More than once, the judge had to call for order as the gallery grew unruly as the physical evidence began to pile up against Shayne. Keith tried to call for a mistrial when a young Irishman began shrieking that Topp killed his father. Outbursts like this tended to sway the jury and taint their objectivity. The judge denied the mistrial. Courtney didn’t miss the subtle flash of guilt on Shayne’s face.

Courtney hadn’t seen Matt since Shayne’s discharge from Metro-General. He was off of babysitting duty, as were the rest of the officers in full tactical gear. It hadn’t occurred to Courtney that the next time she saw the guy, he’d be on the stand as the prosecution’s witness. Matt gave them an almost apologetic grimace when he first sat down. Courtney knew she couldn’t blame him. It was his job, after all.

The prosecution had Matt recount the events that lead to Shayne’s arrest, and he did so as neutrally and objectively as possible. Once it was Noah’s turn to cross examine him, he took a different approach. Through Matt, Noah confirmed and brought to the jury’s attention that a shoot-to-kill order had been placed on Shayne from up top. Noah also succeeded in revealing the hidden sympathy Matt had for Shayne, in the fact that he chose to call emergency medical services to pick Shayne up, rather than gun him down. It didn’t discredit Matt as a witness, but it did lend some validity to the defense’s running story that the deck was stacked against Shayne, and the government was involved.

* * *

At the start of the second week of the trial, Reyes finally brought out the big guns that the defense was waiting for. Dr. Tepper, the chief medical examiner, was put on the stand. They spent the better part of the day pouring over the autopsy reports that tied the killings to the weapons connected to Shayne. By the late afternoon, Assistant DA Tower stepped aside.

“No further questions, Your Honor,” With calm, collected strides, Tower returned to the prosecution’s desk. He motioned to the defense, “Your Witness.”

It was Noah’s turn now. Keith clapped him on the back, “Kick his ass, boy.”

With a confident nod at his team, Noah stood to take the floor.

Tepper was a balding man with grey hair. He wore a matching grey suit and appeared almost skittish as Noah approached the stand. Noah frowned, but began just the same.

“Dr. Tepper, how long have you been the chief medical examiner of New York?”

“Uh, fourteen years, give or take.”

“Hm,” Noah hummed, “And how many death certificates do you think you’ve signed in that time?”

Tepper paused. Noah prompted him, “It must be in the tens of thousands by now, yeah?”

Tepper gave a hesitant nod, “Yes. Thereabouts.”

“Dr. Tepper, you’re responsible for all the autopsy and morgue reports of the defendant’s alleged victims, correct?”

“Yes, that’s correct.”

“Is this usually the case?”

“Uh,” Tepper cleared his throat, “As chief medical examiner, I oversee many of these reports, yes.”

Noah frowned, “Are there instances where other medical examiners oversee the reports?”

“Yes.”

“Do a lot of these reports deal with gunshot wounds?”

“Yes.”

“Have you heard of the Topp family’s murder, Doctor?”

“Objection, Your Honor!” Reyes called out.

“Overruled. Mr. Grossman, please continue,” The Judge replied

Noah tilted his head at Tepper, who nodded, “Yes.”

“Was that a gruesome sight to you, Doctor?”

“Yes.” The sweat appeared to be beading down the doctor’s face.

“Are you used to seeing senseless loss of life like that, Doctor?”

“Well… it’s part of the job. Yes.”

“It must have been rough. Their bodies looked pretty bad, hm, Doctor?”

“Objection, Your Honor, this is improper!” Reyes barked.

“No, overruled. Settle down, Ms. Reyes.” Judge Batzer denied.

Noah gestured towards Tepper, who stammered his reply.

“Y-yes.”

“Have you seen the police report of the incident, Dr. Tepper?”

“Yes.”

“I’d like to show you the report.”

On cue, the police report was projected out for the whole courtroom to see.

“The report states that a single gunman fired on the vehicle. The adult female and juvenile female were killed with a 9mm round in each of their heads. The adult male driver took a bullet to the head and was brought to Metro-General. Is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“This is the police report that the prosecution claims is of the Topp family’s murder, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“The same caliber bullet was used on each of the Topp family members, is that correct, Doctor?”

“Yes, that’s correct.” Tepper audibly gulped once more.

“And your autopsy reports corroborate this?”

“Yes.”

“I’d like to project the documents.”

The autopsy reports were flashed onto the screen next.

“Your autopsy reports claim that the Topp family members took a single 9mm bullet to the head, each. Correct?”

“Yes.”

“Would Mr. Topp’s medical record reflect the same?”

“Yes.”

“Have you seen Mr. Topp’s medical record for the day he was admitted for the shooting?”

There was another pause. A longer one. Noah leaned in slightly.

“Yes.”

“You’ve worked with Metro-General on hundreds of these cases before, yes?” Noah prompted.

“Yes.”

“Has their work always been up to your expectations and standards?”

“Well… yes.”

“Do you recall Mr. Topp’s medical record, for the bullets he took the day of the shooting?”

“I recall.”

“Good, I’d like to present it to you.” Noah motioned once more, and the projector flickered once before presenting the report.

“This report clearly states that Mr. Topp sustained multiple gunshot wounds from different caliber rounds from the same attack. Is that correct?”

Tepper paled at the projected contents. Noah dug into Tepper as whispers spread throughout the courtroom.

“Do I have to repeat myself, Dr. Tepper?”

“Uh, no – no need. That’s correct.”

There was an audible shift in the room. Gallery observers moved in their seats to get a closer look at the report. Jurors muttered towards each other.

“Earlier, you said that the Topp family took one bullet each to the head, of the same caliber. Was your earlier statement false?”

“Objection, Your Honor!” Reyes tried again.

“Sustained. Grossman,” Judge Batzer warned.

Noah didn’t miss a beat, “The Topp family autopsy reports were signed by you, Doctor?”

“Yes.”

“These are the autopsy reports for the same attack that put Shayne Topp in the hospital?”

“Yes.”

“These are the autopsy reports for the same attack in which Shayne Topp sustained multiple gunshot wounds of different calibers?”

“Uh – yes,” Tepper cleared his throat.

“Who asked you to alter the autopsy reports?”

“No one.”

“No one? So, they _were_ altered?”

Tepper leaned back into his seat in defeat as whispers began to spread among the crowd. Tepper turned his head to the judge, “Your Honor, I’d like to state something on the record.”

A louder wave of murmuring instantly broke out among the jury and the gallery. Noah took a step back to flash his team a discreet thumbs up. They matched his enthusiasm. Shayne, on the other hand, looked ready to strangle the doctor.

“Clear the gallery,” The Judge ordered.

The bailiffs directed the now rowdy occupants out of the room, save for the defense and the prosecution. As the last of their echoing footsteps filed out of the courtroom, the doors shut. All eyes were turned to Tepper. After a breath, he spoke.

“I altered the autopsy reports.”

Reyes leaned back in her seat with crossed arms. She let out an irate huff as Tower put his face into his hands.

“Of the Topp family’s murder?” Noah took a step forward.

“Not just them,” Tepper shook his head. “I had to do it; you don’t understand. They came to my office!”

Judge Batzer frowned and leaned in, “Who came to your office, Dr. Tepper?”

Courtney exchanged looks with Shayne, Keith, and Olivia. When they planned this weeks ago, it was just that: a plan. There were no guarantees. Hell, there were so many ways it could have gone wrong. A part of them worried they wouldn’t be able to trip Tepper up like this. To contain her jittery nerves, Courtney grabbed hold of Olivia’s and Shayne’s (shackled) hands.

“Two men I never met before,” Tepper explained with frantic eyes, “They told me if I didn’t fix the case reports, they’d kill my family.”

“Dr. Tepper, to be clear,” The Judge said, “You falsified the autopsy findings on Topp’s family?”

“Them and some John Doe killed the same day in the park.” He sighed, “Same deal, adult male, multiple gunshot wounds.”

“Your Honor,” Reyes stood up and marched forward to stand next to Noah, “This is highly irrelevant to the trial. The defense clearly intends to distract the jury with some impossible-to-prove conspiracy theories-”

“Impossible-to-prove?” Noah turned to face her as his sharp voice cut her off, “Your ME just confirmed he doctored the autopsy records!”

“I’ve heard enough,” The judge huffed, “It’s clear that what the doctor knows about these reports has been tainted due to threats made by persons unknown. Having admitted to tampering with the autopsy reports, the doctor is now inadmissible as a witness.”

“The defense asks for a mistrial,” Keith called.

“Not on your life, Leak.” The judge squinted at Keith before going on, “I’m striking the doctor’s entire testimony from the record and instructing the jurors to disregard anything they may have heard.”

“Your honor,” Reyes paled, “Dr. Tepper is an invaluable-”

“We’re done here, Ms. Reyes.” The judge slammed her gavel.

* * *

It was a groundbreaking shift in the tides for the defense. When a critical witness admitted to doing something like falsifying evidence, it threw a massive wrench into the prosecution’s plans. It put the witness’ testimony into doubt. By striking Tepper’s entire testimony from the record, the defense may have lost record of the ME’s cross examination, but the prosecution lost a substantial amount of leverage. The case for the twenty-something murders he just testified for lost their teeth, as would the murders he was supposed to testify for.

The jury was no doubt tainted by Tepper’s confession. Even if he hadn’t admitted to doctoring the reports in front of the jury, his request to go on record had heavy implications. The judge could instruct the jury to disregard what they may have heard all she wanted, but it wasn’t going to do much. Despite the lack of specifics, the suspicion was enough to lend credibility to the carousel massacre’s narrative for the jurors. It really was grounds for a mistrial. The whole defense was surprised that the judge didn’t give them one. Instead, Reyes had to push on with her prosecution after losing her biggest and most prominent witness.

Going into the trial, Keith and Noah had been telling their team, Shayne included, that they were afraid the judge may have been in on it too. For all they knew, they were going to skew the trial in the prosecution’s favor with a gross and blatant amount of bias. It appeared Reyes’ influence didn’t spread that far. That, or she used the last of her strings trying to trip them up by speeding up the trial date.

Aside from the big leg up that Tepper’s testimony gave them, Courtney was thrilled to have a new lead. While everything prior had been deduction and Shayne’s word against the world’s, the ME now confirmed Shayne’s side with the doctored reports. It was a shame she couldn’t cite what just happened in her report on the trial of the century. She didn’t need to get Smosh shut down and prematurely end her journalism career because she leaked classified courtroom talk. Even she knew the line she had to walk.

The John Doe that Tepper mentioned was the man they needed to ID next. He could be the missing link tying the DA’s office to the carousel massacre. Leak and Grossman were scheduled to visit Shayne at Rikers today, since the next trial date wasn’t until the following day. Courtney figured she’d arrive ahead of time to pick Shayne’s brain, then they could get back down to discussing the trial once the rest of the gang showed up.

Courtney planned to talk things over with him – figure out if maybe there was anyone that he remembered stood out in the park. Afterwards, she could try hitting up the archives again with Ian and see if they could dig up anything on the John Doe. He and Anthony could help her figure things out from there.

She walked into Rikers later in the afternoon. Courtney wore a neat white blouse, a navy-blue skirt, and put some light makeup on. She checked into security with a Macrogurt in her bag. Courtney wasn’t so sure if it would get past security. She’d never seen anyone eating in the visitation room, so she always assumed it was against the rules. Just the same, she wanted to try. Shayne (obviously) hadn’t been able to join her, Keith, Noah, and Olivia last night when they went to Josie’s to get drunk and celebrate sticking it to Reyes. Courtney was hoping the little treat could make up for it. Seeing his yogurt-eating face never failed to make her grin like an idiot.

The guards pulled the yogurt out along with her gun. Thinking off the top of her head, Courtney spoke up.

“Wait, I’m hypoglycemic,” Courtney raised a hand to stop the guard. The man looked up at her questioningly, and she elaborated, “I got low blood sugar. Unless you want me passing out in visitation, I’m gonna need that.”

The guard looked at his superior, who shrugged and waved him off. The Macrogurt was returned to her bag. Courtney was sure to give a bright, appreciative smile once they finished running their beeping scanners over her body. Once she was through security, she was escorted through the dark, grey halls of Rikers Island Prison Complex.

She’d gotten used to this part by now. After all, she’d met Shayne multiple times throughout the weeks he’d been detained in Rikers. Once they passed another familiar turn, they arrived. With a buzz, the steel door slid to the side. Courtney entered the room, her mind still idly thinking of how excited Shayne would be to get his Macrogurt.

It was sparsely packed today. Courtney settled onto a vacant table in the center of the room. She counted five inmates scattered throughout the area, including one particularly big guy with a long beard. They were sitting at different tables not far away. She realized they weren’t accompanied by any visitors. Courtney’s eyes began to flit around to take in the scene. The usual guards posted on opposite corners of the room weren’t here yet either.

Her heart skipped a beat, and her hand subconsciously snaked into her purse. She gripped nothing of substance and was painfully reminded that the guards took her .380.

Movement at the far end of the room caught her eye. Looking at its source, she saw Shayne stepping into the room as the doors buzzed open.

He was void of any fresh new bruises or cuts, but had a dark look on his face. Shayne’s jaw was firmly clenched, hands curled into fists. The corners of his lips were tugged slightly back in a fierce snarl. His muscles were tensed, like a predator ready to strike. His eyes looked as dark as the most turbulent storms. This was the man that shot up Metro-General and snatched her gun from her hands. This was The Punisher standing before her.

Shayne’s head swiveled around at the different inmates before snapping in the direction of either doorway. After sparing a glance at the upper corners of the room, he finally looked at Courtney.

Courtney retraced the path that his eyes travelled as the pit in her stomach formed.

The five burly inmates were alone, with no visitors. No guards stood watch behind the doorways they just entered through. The blinking red light of the security cameras were absent.

Shayne came to a halt in front of her table. He dropped something onto its surface, and it took her a second to register what it was. A plastic object, sharpened to a point, with the body wrapped in duct tape; it was a shiv. Shayne firmly set his hands down on the table and leaned in close. Courtney held her breath as her heart hammered in her chest. Her eyes searched Shayne’s face, wordlessly pleading with him to tell her what she already knew. His blue eyes softened when they met hers.

“Courtney,” His fearless mask cracked as he said her name in a low whisper.

“It’s a trap.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long one today, with lots of developments! Be sure to drop a comment and tell me what you liked about this one! Thank you for reading til the end here! There were lots of sections here I enjoyed writing, like serious Bell, and others that were more challenging, like the cross examination. I went over court transcriptions to figure out how to make it somewhat realistic, but still entertaining without dragging it on for too long.
> 
> Stay tuned to find out how Shayne and Courtney make it out of this one!


	10. Anything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Courtney and Shayne fight for their lives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You probably already knew this, but heavy graphic violence ahead. Be warned.

Shayne woke up that day in a good mood for once. Noah destroyed Tepper on the stand, and he wished he could’ve toasted Courtney and his legal team on their blow to Reyes’ case. Even if he couldn’t join them in celebration, he returned to Rikers that evening with a smaller scowl than usual. Today, Shayne started off having to take the extra effort to make his Punisher frown convincing to keep the other inmates back.

It didn’t take Shayne past morning roll call to realize something was wrong today. He hadn’t been attacked in a few days now. But today, all eyes were on him. When he made it to the mess hall for breakfast, the air stilled as idle chatter fell silent. Heads turned in his direction. Low whispers filled the space. Shayne’s scowl returned in full force, causing a few nearby inmates to take some precautionary steps away from him.

With a heaping load of margarine slapped onto his stale bread, the convict on meal-duty looked at him. It was the same guy that inadvertently announced his presence to the entire mess hall on his first day. The convict wore a smirk on his face that told him he knew something that Shayne didn’t. Shayne’s trigger finger twitched, and he resisted the urge to slam the meal tray into his face. Instead, Shayne growled at him.

“What?”

The inmate’s smirk turned into a wicked grin. He dropped an extra piece of stale bread onto Shayne’s tray, “Eat up, Topp.”

Shayne glanced over his shoulder twice as much that meal. By the time he was scheduled for yard time, Shayne stood close to the exit, leaning back with his arms crossed. He didn’t bother trying to squeeze in a workout. Shayne figured he’d catch a shank to the neck mid-squat if he tried.

His steely eyes scanned the catwalks for Bell’s silhouette but couldn’t spot the older man. Bell would know what was going on. He didn’t think it was possible to miss Bell’s chatter in his ear, but he did. Shayne took to observing the inmates in the yard instead. They were watching him. Irish, Dogs of Hell, Cartel – they studied him like predators waiting to strike. It wasn’t particularly out of the ordinary. What was unusual was how the other gangs were watching him too.

In prison, especially in shitty ones like Rikers, people devolved and let their baser instincts take over. Majority of the population was split up into gangs based on their race. Whites, blacks, Latinos – those were the typical denominations. Those were further broken down into different gangs, typically linked to gangs on the outside. So, among the whites, the Dogs of Hell and the Irish mob were after him. Among the Latinos, Shayne had the Mexican Cartel.

The rest of the gangs among the whites, blacks, and Latinos didn’t have personal problems with The Punisher. Among the ten men Shayne killed in self-defense during his detention here, none of them belonged to the other gangs.

Yet they observed him today too. They lacked the murderous glint in the eyes that the rest had. Their eyes were more curious. Others were more conspiratorial. Shayne caught hushed whispers between one another, and the occasional slipping of contraband from convict to convict. All while glancing back at him.

By the time lunch rolled in, he all but confirmed it from the whispered murmurs. They were taking bets. Shayne could only assume these were bets on his life. A hit was being planned on him, probably today. He didn’t have much of an appetite after that.

Once he was done halfheartedly poking at his lunch, Shayne headed straight back to his cell. He couldn’t particularly lose himself in _The Count of Monte Cristo_ today, but the cell was a defensible location. He could fight off his attackers one at a time if it came to it. While open spaces allowed more maneuverability, it also meant he was more likely to get a shiv in the back.

A few hours ticked by. Shayne struggled to finish each chapter, taking precautionary glances at his cell door every few lines. Each time, he expected his assailants to strike, but they never did. Eventually, later in the afternoon a silhouette stopped by his cell door. His head snapped in its direction, and he let out a heavy, relieved sigh when he found Bell. His heart began to pound in his chest when he saw Bell’s dark expression, and the relief quickly left his body. He carried cuffs and shackles in his hands and wordlessly motioned for Shayne to come with him.

The heat began to spread throughout Shayne’s entire body. The blood pumped in his veins, preparing himself for what was to come, because those restraints only meant one thing: someone was here to see him. It meant either his legal team or Courtney was here to speak with him while people were placing bets on his life.

Shayne waited until Bell secured the restraints and they were free from the cell block. Bell hadn’t said a word, which was incredibly alarming in and of itself.

“Bell, talk to me. Who is it?”

Bell gulped and turned his stubbly face towards Shayne. “It’s your girl.”

The fire in Shayne’s body amplified, his skin prickling from the sensation. His heart crashed against his ribs with great power, nearly enough to hurt. A deep pit in his stomach formed, and he felt like he could vomit.

He had to get Courtney out of here. Her life was in danger. If she got hurt because of him-

No. It wouldn’t come to that.

Shayne wouldn’t allow it.

He let out a long exhale, “Is this it, Bell? This the warden’s play?”

Bell spoke in a low voice, “Yeah. Five guys. Cartel, Irish, biker. Power’s gonna go out, then they got like seven minutes before riot control gets in.”

The older Marine glanced over his shoulder before adding, “Topp, I think they were bankin’ on all four of ‘em bein’ here. But now that blondie got here ahead, they ain’t lettin’ the opportunity pass with you outnumbered.”

Shayne’s fists shook with barely contained rage. He drew blood biting down on his lip to keep his snarl under control.

The visitation room’s steel door was now in sight. Shayne could hear his heart pounding up into his ears. His fingers twitched with the _need_ to take decisive action.

They came to a stop in front of it. Shayne could see the five men, scattered across the different tables. Courtney was just stepping into the room to pick a table. Shayne’s stomach flipped when Courtney took a seat.

Bell bent down to undo the shackles on his legs with quick, practiced hands. Shayne’s breathing grew heavy as he craned his neck to get a better peek past the steel bars. Courtney’s head was swiveling to take in the other inmates.

The older man straightened up as he began to uncuff Shayne. Bell looked into Shayne’s eyes as he spoke.

“They told me to keep you cuffed, Topp.”

Shayne’s eyes widened as Bell got the first hand free.

“Who, Bell? The warden?”

“Yeah. He got that order from someone higher up.”

Shayne’s head swiveled to the security camera in the corner that caught Bell breaking direct orders in plain view.

He turned his wide, alarmed eyes back to the older man, “Bell, the people that are doing this will kill you.”

Bell’s hardened face was resolute. He didn’t meet Shayne’s eyes as he tugged an object free from his pocket. It was a standard toothbrush sharpened to a point, with duct tape for a handle. Bell pressed it into Shayne’s hand and closed his fingers around it. The older man took a moment to peer into the room and look at Courtney.

“Make sure blondie gets that shiv. You’ll probably make do without it.” Bell took a breath as he levelled his steely eyes back on Shayne, “Harris, the big guy that was with us on your first stint in solitary, remember him?”

Shayne grit his teeth and nodded.

“He’s gonna come in with riot control later. He’s got ‘em under his thumb. They’ll take you to your cell or the infirmary, and blondie’s gonna be escorted out.”

“Bell, how do I know she’ll be s-”

“Son,” Bell grunted, “She’ll be safe. I promise.”

To prevent further argument, Bell reached over to hit the switch, triggering the loud buzz as the doors slid open.

“Semper Fi, Marine.” Bell extended his hand out to Shayne, for what could very well be the final time.

Shayne gulped as he gripped the older Marine’s hand with a firm shake, “Semper Fi, Bell.”

With a final look at Bell, he marched into the visitation room. The door shut behind him with a buzz.

Courtney sat at the center table, shoulders rigid and eyes alert. She already knew something was up.

Shayne’s head snapped around, assessing the threats.

Five men – three Irish guys. One Cartel. One biker – the mountain of a man with the long beard.

Red hair on the first Irishman. Scars on the second. Broken nose on the third.

No guards in either corner of the room. No guards behind the entry and exit doors.

Security cameras were shut off.

Shayne took several long steps in Courtney’s direction. She looked up at him with those soulful green eyes, fear creeping into her face. Shayne set the weapon down on the table in front of her before leaning forward on the table.

The terror on Courtney’s face cemented Shayne’s resolve. He felt true raw fear for the first time today as he found her name on his lips, “Courtney.”

She was in danger. She was in danger because of him. He had to protect her.

“It’s a trap.”

Shayne took several sharp, deep breaths – forcing the oxygen into his lungs, into his system, into his muscles so he was ready to fight. He pointedly slid the shiv across the table for her to use.

The lights went out.

The red emergency lights flashed on, bathing the room in a gruesome glow. The emergency siren blared from the speakers. The inmates began getting to their feet all around them. Courtney grabbed the shiv with shaking hands. Only then Shayne allowed himself to turn around.

With another sharp few breaths, Shayne let out a roar and lunged at the closest inmate: the redheaded Irishman. The powerful blow to the face sent him sprawling to the ground. The massive biker took a menacing step towards Courtney. Shayne retaliated by crashing his foot into the man’s center mass with all his might, causing him to stumble back and crash into the wall. An arm wrapped around Shayne’s right. Shayne twisted his hips and grabbed for his assailant’s collar. In a singular deft motion, Shayne sent the man careening through the air with a perfect shoulder throw. The broken-nosed inmate crashed onto the steel table with a loud bang.

Hearing a shuffle of movement behind him, Shayne aimed a kick at his rear, sending the Cartel enforcer to the ground. Shayne’s head snapped up to look at the redheaded Irishman as he staggered up to his feet. Shayne prioritized the man he was pinning to the table, whose head was leaning off the side.

With another roar, Shayne raised his elbow high into the air and crashed it down onto the man’s head. The crack of his neck reverberated throughout the visitation room as he went limp. Before Shayne could swing in the redhead’s direction, two massive arms wrapped around him, keeping him in place. The red-haired Irishman drew a shiv of his own, a malicious shine in his eyes.

Shayne glanced at Courtney periodically throughout the fight. He caught glimpses, not enough to see the whole picture, but enough to piece together that she was alive and fighting. So far, she’d been knocked back onto the table by the other Irishman. Courtney was able to stab him in the side with her shiv to break free. Now she faced the Cartel enforcer and the now bleeding Irishman.

He had to get free. He had to protect Courtney.

Shayne grit his teeth and sent his hands up to reach for the biker’s eyes. The redhead charged at him, swinging his shiv to cut at his face. Shayne sent his foot high, kicking at the man’s hand. He was caught in the shiv’s backswing. Shayne let out a sharp grunt as it drew an angry, bleeding cut across his chest. Shayne kicked off the ground, sending his foot higher yet, this time catching the Irishman in the head, knocking him back to the ground.

With the brief reprieve, Shayne turned his head to get a better view of the biker. With the staggering height difference, there was no way he could rake out the guy’s eyes. Shayne pushed off the ground, feet landing on the table, next to the limp, broken-necked Irishman. Shayne kicked up with all the force he could muster, sending the biker off balance and falling to the ground. Shayne rolled backwards into a crouch by the biker. He crashed two powerful blows into the man’s neck before getting onto his feet. The biker let out a pained choking sound as he gripped his windpipe.

Courtney was now pinned against a concrete support pillar. The scarred Irishman held her down by the neck. With his other hand, he locked onto her wrist, preventing her from stabbing him. The cartel enforcer was approaching them to even the odds. Shayne was having none of it.

Letting out another loud cry, Shayne rushed forward. He grabbed the smaller Cartel enforcer by the legs, his shoulder ramming into his midsection. With a twist, he slammed the man onto the ground. The enforcer let out a sharp yell of pain but was quick to retaliate as Shayne clambered onto him in a full mount.

Three sharp bursts of numbing pain shot throughout Shayne’s leg. Shayne grunted as the enforcer drew the shiv back from his leg to stab him a fourth time. Shayne established control of the enforcer’s wrist with both his hands. He shot a glance back to find the redhead Irishman beginning his approach from across the room. The biker was also struggling to get back onto his feet.

Shayne twisted sharply on his wrist, eliciting a pained cry from the man and sending the shiv clattering a few feet out of reach.

“Shayne!”

His head snapped in Courtney’s direction. With wide eyes, he found her haphazardly tossing her own shiv in his direction.

This brave, stupid woman.

It landed right next to Shayne and the enforcer. He tried to make a grab for it first but was stopped by Shayne’s elbow bloodying his face. Securing the shiv, he held the man’s face down and jabbed him in the neck a good five or six times, splattering himself with blood.

Two searing pangs of stabbing pain in his back alerted him of the redhead’s arrival. Shayne twisted his torso and sent his forearm back to deflect the incoming attack. He received a nasty gash along his arm but avoided the worst of it. He took the break in his attacker’s rhythm to get back to his feet. He weaved out of the way of a few messy swings before the Irishman went for an underhanded stab. He blocked the swing with his forearm and stepped in close. As Shayne did, he twisted his arm to lock the Irishman’s offending arm at the elbow. It neutralized the threat of the shiv for the time being.

A grunt from his side caught his attention, stopping Shayne from jabbing his own shiv into the redhead’s neck. Shayne craned his head to find Courtney landing a solid kick in between her attacker’s legs. The sudden blow caused the man to drop, dragging Courtney along with him.

“Courtney!”

Shayne tossed the shiv over to Courtney with a decisive flick of his wrist. Despite being stunned by the initial fall, Courtney scrambled over for the weapon. The scarred Irishman recovered and grabbed her by the foot, tugging her back. He raised his fist to strike, only for Courtney to stab him deep in the jugular. His eyes widened in horror, locking onto Courtney’s own terrified eyes. Courtney yanked the shiv free, allowing the blood to come spurting out of his neck like a gruesome fountain. The dying man stumbled back as Courtney was quickly coated in the slick crimson.

Shayne’s right hand now free, he grabbed at the man’s nape. He pressed his forearm firmly against the side of the Irishman’s jaw to keep him from shooting for Shayne’s legs in a takedown. Using the Irishman’s locked elbow and nape as leverage, Shayne drove his knee into the man’s chest twice. The redhead cried out in pain before using his one usable arm to block Shayne’s brutal attacks. He capitalized on the break in Shayne’s momentum and landed a blow against his ribs. Shayne let out a grunt as the Irishman used his larger stature to push Shayne back a few steps until he crashed into another table.

The sharp impact against the steel corner had Shayne reeling. Shayne shuffled his leg back to regain his footing – to keep his center of balance up where he couldn’t be knocked down. Instead, Shayne’s leg buckled, and he became acutely aware for the first time of how numb it had gotten. It gave the inmate the chance to yank his arm out from Shayne’s elbow lock. He gave Shayne no quarter, striking him across the face twice and dropping him onto the table. He bore the shiv down on Shayne with both hands. Shayne grabbed back with his own hands to stop him.

Shayne’s legs were giving way. With it, he lost his core strength and was forced to fight back against the Irishman’s full weight with nothing but the dwindling strength of his arms.

Shayne took in air with sharp, rapid breaths. He panted as the larger Irishman towered over him, pushing down on him with the shiv, putting all his weight into the weapon. It hovered inches away from Shayne’s chest as the strength ebbed out of him. The heavy bleeding from his leg was crippling him. The shiv was coming ever closer in this uphill battle.

“Shayne!”

Courtney’s voice came out in a desperate, choked yell.

Shayne’s blood ran cold.

The massive biker had her in a headlock. Courtney’s shiv was discarded on the floor. The biker was bleeding in the side from multiple stab wounds. Courtney’s hands flailed back to scratch and claw at his face. Her nails sought her assailant’s eyes, but she lacked the reach and the strength as the biker craned his head away from her. Her face was turning purple as her oxygen supply was cut off. The biker could break her neck with a single sharp twist.

Courtney’s terror-stricken eyes were locked onto him.

He blinked.

He could see Courtney’s lifeless form on the ground, her head bent at an unnatural angle from her snapped neck.

He blinked again.

Shayne used the primal fear that seized his heart. He turned it into anger. In the heat of battle, anger was power.

He unleashed it.

With a powerful battle cry, Shayne pushed back at the Irishman. It was enough to get wiggle room before the weapon came crashing back down. Shayne purposely caught the shiv with his left forearm, a hole punching cleanly through. He smashed his fist into the Irishman’s shocked face, spraying blood into the air from his broken nose as he staggered back.

Shayne righted himself, ripping the shiv free from his arm. He grabbed the inmate by the neck and swung the shiv with all his might. It broke through his temple with a sickening crack. With a jolt, he went limp in Shayne’s hands. He tore the weapon free and discarded the body. With grit teeth, he limped forward.

“Not another step or I break her neck, Topp!” The biker’s voice cut through the blaring of the alarm.

Shayne stopped. He glared the biker down, shaking with barely contained rage. The mountain of a man kept his headlock tightly wound around Courtney’s neck. Her bloodied, pale face was turning a disconcerting shade of blue.

“Yeah, that’s how it’s gonna be, huh?” Shayne growled. The biker watched him with calculating eyes. His grip around Courtney’s neck wasn’t tightening further just yet, and that was all that mattered.

“Stay back, Topp.”

“Yeah, you’re a big man, huh?! Think you’re a real fucking big guy, don’t you?!” Shayne ran a bloody hand through his hair in frustration. He risked a limping step forward.

“Didn’t your dad ever teach you not to hurt a woman?” Shayne spat.

“C’mon, just you and me,” Shayne snarled. He tossed the shiv across the room and spread his arms out, “C’mon, big guy, leave her out of this.”

Courtney lost a shade of blue on her face with whatever little oxygen she was now getting.

“What’re you gonna do? You gonna kill an unarmed woman, huh? That the type of man you are?!”

“There’s no walking out of this, Topp.” The biker said in a deep, husky voice.

“Yeah? Is that what the shitbags that sent you said?”

Shayne took his silence as a yes.

“What’s your name?” Shayne tried.

“Mike.” The biker answered.

“You a lifer for the Dogs of Hell, Mike? That it?”

Mike was silent for a long, tense moment. The red glow of the emergency lights casted long shadows along his face. Finally, he gave a nod.

“Dogs got something on you?” Shayne took a step closer. He broke the glare to look at Courtney. She was looking a fraction better, staring back up at him with desperate eyes. Her chest heaved with quick, terrified breaths.

Shayne raked his frazzled mind, searching through the scattered memories. He’d seen Mike here in visitation before. He was a fucking mountain, so he was hard to miss. He had a family. A wife and a son.

The last time Shayne saw Mike, he wasn’t talking to his family. He was talking to the Dogs, and there was the faintest air of tension.

“They have your wife?” Shayne took a guess. The ragged breath from the biker’s mouth told him he hit his mark.

“I have to do this, Topp.”

“You’d do anything, huh? Pick a fight with some asshole like me? Kill an innocent woman, too?” Shayne took another step closer.

“Get back, Topp!” Mike tightened his grip on Courtney’s neck. A sickening, pained sound choked out from Courtney’s throat, her hands still trying to claw at his face.

“God damnit!” Shayne barked as he took a step back and turned around for a second. He ran a hand through his blood matted hair before turning back.

“You know how it feels to lose family, Topp. I’m not gonna lose mine,” Mike said. Courtney’s hands grew faint, and only reached up in tiny spasms. It was no use. She was too weak from the oxygen deprivation.

“What would you do, huh?” Mike prompted him, “What would you do if they had your family?”

“Anything.”

Mike let out a humorless laugh and nodded, “Well, here we are, Topp.”

Shayne’s eyes went back to Courtney’s panicked ones. His heart thundered against his ribs as Courtney watched him in desperation. Her hands came to tug meekly on Mike’s burly arm in an attempt to buy herself more air.

“You see, Mike, thing is,” Shayne gulped, “That lady you got there whose neck you could snap like a twig…”

“I’d do anything for her too,” His eyes never wavered from Courtney’s own as he spoke. “So, I want you to let her go, okay?”

“You and me, let’s finish this, Mike. You’re not gonna kill a woman like this. That’s not the kind of man you are, is it?”

Shayne returned his steely glare to meet Mike’s own. He saw all the micromovements in his periphery. He saw the bob in his Adam’s apple. The tightening veins on his neck. The shift of his cheek as his jaw clenched. The flare of his nostrils. The twitch at the corner of his wide eyes.

Shayne braced himself. He could close the distance in under a second. Strike him in the face and grab his arm – just enough to distract him into letting Courtney go. Then survive long enough until Harris arrived with riot control. Shayne flexed his fingers in anticipation and found his left hand to be failing him. Shayne didn’t break eye contact to survey the damage. He didn’t need to look at it to know he fucked it up. He couldn’t free Courtney with both hands, so his next best option was an open-palmed strike to the nose, then he’d bring his hand down to-

Mike uncurled his arm. Courtney dropped onto all fours, gasping for breath.

“That’s right.” Shayne nodded at Mike. He shuffled his bloody leg forward to square his stance in preparation for the biker’s assault. Shayne’s hands raised up defensively, the left hanging limply at the wrist from blood loss.

Mike took long steps around Courtney as she coughed and gasped, a hand at her throat.

Shayne rolled his shoulders and cricked his neck. Mike barreled forward in a charge with a ferocious roar. Shayne sent his foot up in a kick, but it was ineffective. He was too weak. He’d lost too much blood.

But Courtney was alive. He’d done his job.

Mike grabbed Shayne by the torso and slammed him into the ground. Shayne’s entire body cried out in pain as his limbs uselessly flopped to the side on impact. He raised his hands to defend himself, only for the biker’s fists to come pounding down on him.

His skull rocked back against the concrete floor with each devastating blow dealt to his face. Shayne’s arms came up to feebly strike at the man or deflect his fists. Mike swung wide and sent them limply back before resuming his flurry of heavy strikes.

Shayne’s face went numb. The vessels in his nose ruptured three or four punches ago. Blood was flowing freely from his nose and the numerous cuts on his face that had been opened up by the furious onslaught.

Darkness crept into Shayne’s vision, overwhelming him with the oppressing blackness.

* * *

Shayne was dancing in that spotlight again. His dress blues were as pristine as the day he earned them. Nicole looked stunning in her immaculate wedding gown. They followed along to some unheard rhythm, played by some invisible band somewhere in the inky darkness that lied beyond the spotlight.

“Rough day, babe?” Nicole asked as she gracefully stepped around him. Shayne followed her lead and turned to keep up.

“You could say that,” Shayne muttered.

Shayne extended his hand to allow Nicole to take a swift step away, arm stretched into the air. With a tug, she spun back towards him. Shayne caught her with practiced hands.

“Did you mean that?” Nicole asked.

Nicole didn’t need to clarify for Shayne to understand what and _who_ she was referring to. Shayne gulped, “Yeah.”

“Then get out of here. You’re not done yet.”

Nicole pressed a slow, gentle kiss to his lips, granting him a moment’s peace. When he opened his eyes, his wife wore that mischievous smirk on her face. He had a feeling he knew what was coming.

Trapping his foot with her own, Nicole gave him a push. Shayne went flailing to the ground flat on his back.

* * *

“Shayne!”

His eyes snapped open to find himself on his back. He watched through swollen eyes as Mike raised his fist high into the air.

Courtney fucking Miller crash landed onto Mike’s back, forcing the man to drop his hand to catch himself before he toppled over. Her right hand grabbed a fistful of his orange jumpsuit at the shoulder. Her left raised high into the air, and Shayne didn’t miss the shiv’s glint in the red light. Courtney slammed the shiv into the side of Mike’s neck. He cried out in pain as she tugged it loose and allowed the blood to squirt free. Mike turned and swung his arm back, knocking Courtney onto the ground right next to Shayne.

Shayne found his second wind at the sight of Courtney’s head smacking onto the ground.

He grabbed the shiv from Courtney’s hand and thrust up into Mike’s neck in a sharp jab. He let out a choked sound as he placed one hand to try to cover the fresh wound that squirted blood freely. He crawled away in a panic on his one hand and his knees just enough for Shayne to sit up.

Shayne pressed the advantage and moved in for the kill. Running on sheer adrenaline and willpower alone, Shayne took a ragged couple of steps in Mike’s direction. He forced his numb and uncooperative left hand to function. When the slightest feeling returned to his heavy, dull fingers, he grabbed the large biker by the hair. Shayne tugged Mike’s head back to get the angle. With all his might and bodyweight, Shayne jammed the shiv deep into his eye.

The stomach-churning crunch echoed throughout the visitation room. The momentum had Shayne collapsing onto Mike’s limp body. He allowed himself a scant few pants before turning his attention to Courtney. She sat against one support column, eyes vacantly looking forward as she took in shallow breaths. The red emergency lights washed over her with an unsettling glow. The emergency siren continued to sing its haunting tune.

Shayne shambled to his feet, left arm hanging almost uselessly at his side. He dropped into a crouch next to Courtney to assess her.

Courtney’s face was covered in blood, but it didn’t appear to belong to her. She had a few bruises on her face and a shallow cut by her cheek, and another one by her hairline. Throwing social protocols to the wind, Shayne ran a cautious hand along Courtney’s body. Her blouse was torn in several places, so he had to shift the fabric to detect any additional injuries she sustained. Her skirt was in one piece, and her legs were free of any cuts. After a few tense moments, Shayne let out a sigh of relief. The worst she’d gotten was a shallow cut along her side, and bruises along her arms and neck.

The panic began to mount once more when Shayne realized Courtney still wasn’t looking at him. Her pupils were contracted, staring vacantly ahead but not seeing. Shayne willed his rapidly beating heart to calm itself to no avail. He hesitantly reached forward to take hold of Courtney’s shoulder and gave her a gentle shake.

“Hey, ma’am,” Shayne shifted and ducked his head to meet her eyes. He rubbed his thumb along her shoulder in that same manner she’d do to him.

“Courtney?” Shayne leaned in closer to meet her shellshocked eyes.

“Court, please, talk to me here.” Shayne heard the slight crack in his own voice but didn’t care.

She blinked just then, and her eyes came into focus to settle on him. “Shayne?”

She was alive. She was okay. Good God, she was okay.

Relief washed over Shayne. He let out a ragged breath he didn’t know he was holding. Courtney’s bright green eyes trailed all across his face and his body and quickly took a glassy tint.

“You’re okay, Court,” Shayne continued brushing his one working thumb against her shoulder.

“Shayne,” Courtney’s voice shook as she motioned vaguely at him. Her brows pitched together tighter than he’d ever seen them. Her slightly parted lips quivered.

“I’m not winning any beauty pageants soon, huh?”

It startled a laugh out of Courtney, sending the tears spilling down her cheeks. The little drops of water trickled along, carving a path across the smears of blood coating her face. She tentatively raised her hands up to rest on either of Shayne’s cheeks. Courtney wiped at him with her thumbs, trying to clean the blood off. Shayne smiled weakly at her.

“I thought you were done for,” Courtney sniffed as she returned his smile.

Shayne made a face and shook his head as his wife’s words rang in his mind.

“I’m not done yet.”

Courtney’s hands snaked down his face, around his blood-speckled neck. Before Courtney could reel Shayne in to hold onto him for dear life, the siren cut off, and the red emergency lights blacked out. In their place, the regular fluorescent lights kicked back on.

The room didn’t seem any less red.

Shayne heard the quiet gasp that Courtney tried to choke down as she looked at the mess of bodies around them.

“Hey, Court – hey,” Shayne feebly held her chin with his good hand. He tilted her head back to face him.

“Court, we’re fine,” Shayne said quietly. Courtney’s rattled eyes snapped back over to Shayne’s and settled there. “We did good. We made it.”

Noise began to fill the halls beyond the visitation room. Shayne slid his hand up to cup Courtney’s face as he looked at the source of the sound. The correctional officers were back in force now, wearing riot gear.

“Step away from the civilian!”

“Inmate, get down on your knees and place your hands on your head!”

“Topp, get back, now!” The familiar voice called out. Harris stood at the front of the squad of riot control officers.

Shayne glanced at the security cameras and found the red lights were once again blinking softly. They owed Bell a solid for this. He turned back to face Courtney, who looked at him with pleading eyes.

“You gotta go with them now, Court.”

“Shayne, no. No, they can’t-”

“Hey, hey – listen, the guy at the front there – his name is Harris. He’s gonna take care of you. They won’t try anything right now.”

“Shayne,” The tears streaked down her bloody cheeks. Shayne knew that her empathic heart wept for him. She probably hardly gave a damn about her own safety right now. Shayne let his hand slink down to her neck. His thumb offered her comfort in the strokes he brushed against her bruised skin.

“I’ll be fine. You’re gonna be safe, okay? I promise.”

Courtney shut her eyes tight and looked down for a moment. Lacking the words to offer her any more assurance and comfort, Shayne gently pulled her close. He pressed his split lips against her forehead in a soft kiss, like a seal for his promise. Courtney gulped down the lump in her throat as he pulled back. She wiped at the tears on her face. Finally, she nodded, just as the guards continued to shout orders at them.

“Okay.”

Shayne smiled faintly, “Okay.”

Shayne pushed off the ground with a wobble. He could barely stand upright, let alone walk. He staggered several agonizing paces away from Courtney.

“Down on your knees!”

Shayne complied, allowing his knees to buckle freely. He hit the ground hard as the darkness began to skulk back into his vision. The blaring buzz filled his ears as the doors slipped open, allowing the officers to storm the room. Harris took the lead and approached Courtney, directing the other officers towards Shayne.

Shayne’s bleary eyes did their best to focus on Courtney’s bright soulful eyes, taking comfort in the fire that burned within them. Harris got down on a knee to assess Courtney as the other officers firmly took hold of Shayne.

_Son. She’ll be safe. I promise._

Bell’s words echoed in Shayne’s mind as he allowed the darkness to take him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys and gals, thanks for reading til the end! Drop a comment if you liked this one! We got some heavy action, punctuated by some soft moments in the end, and it was real fun to write all in all. Not much to add to the notes today. I hope you guys have a good day ahead!


	11. Semper Fi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bell deals with the consequences of his actions. Courtney calls a friend. Shayne dances under the familiar spotlight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of graphic violence in this chapter. Be warned.

Bell hit the ground hard, landing in a heap next to the corpse of the fallen Mexican Cartel enforcer. He got a knee up before one CO’s boot crashed into his face. Bell stumbled back onto the bloodstained tiles with a pained grunt. He pushed himself up, using a bloody visitation table for assistance. The two other COs stared him down, batons drawn. The warden, Gates, leaned on the wall at the far end of the room, gun in hand and watching the show.

He raised his fists up and squared his stance. These clowns weren’t shit compared to the assholes he fought in the Gulf. They were lucky he was unarmed. Bell spat blood on the ground and bared his teeth, “C’mon, what’re ya waitin’ for?! You afraid of an old man?!”

The two COs exchanged looks. These punks, Johnson and Lee, were new blood. Right under the warden’s payroll, eager to please and do anything it took to get on his good side. Johnson was young – younger than Topp, Bell mused. The other was an Asian-American man, as old as his son would’ve been if he were still alive.

Johnson charged in, swinging his baton down on Bell. The older CO closed the distance with a swift step. The steel baton hit the ground just as Bell threw a right straight into his face. Bell gripped Johnson’s armed hand with his left. Before Johnson could react, Bell grabbed him by the collar, pulling him in close for a clinch.

Lee came to a stop in front of them, hesitant to hit his fellow CO. Bell pressed the advantage, driving his sharp knee into Johnson’s side. He drove the younger CO forward while he was stunned, crashing him into a table. Bell trapped Johnson’s foot, and with a push, dropped him onto the surface. He delivered three devastating strikes, bloodying Johnson’s nose.

A blinding pain struck Bell across the face, sending him reeling backwards. He felt the blood pouring out of the fresh cut opened along his ear and the side of his face. Bell weaved out of Lee’s next baton strike, with a stagger back. Lee glanced at Johnson, who was clutching his nose and wincing. Bell used the distraction to throw a sharp jab at Lee’s face, snapping his head back. He followed up with a powerful straight that sent Lee stumbling towards his fellow CO. The sharp metallic racking of Warden Gates’ pistol could be heard across the room.

Bell reminded himself that this wasn’t a scrap he was getting out of. The only reason he wasn’t dead yet was because they needed to make the riot narrative look convincing. How much more convincing would it be if three COs were beat to shit and one of them had a bullet in his head?

Bell took the pause to yank the pack of smokes out of his pocket. Lee was pulling Johnson up and they were taking their sweet time like the goddamn amateurs they were. Bell could see the story lining up so perfectly as he retrieved his lighter. Two younger COs get their shit kicked in trying to subdue the inmates and save their older CO. Tragedy strikes when an inmate gets ahold of a gun and murders the older CO. Real goddamn sob story if it even made the papers. Bell lit his cigarette and took a long drag. The chemicals flooded his system, cooling his frayed nerves.

Lee and Johnson finally got their shit together, approaching him with malice in their eyes. Bell took another deep puff and clamped down on the cigarette with his lips. Johnson swung twice in rapid succession. Bell weaved his upper body clear from the strikes with ease and rammed his boot into the man’s chest, sending him staggering back. Lee’s baton came in too quickly from his side.

Bell felt the stabbing pain of a broken rib pressing into his insides. He hissed through his teeth as he stumbled, catching himself on a support column. He ducked just as Lee’s next attack came. Bell shot for his legs, hooking the CO’s knees with his hands. Lee hit the ground with a loud grunt as the air left him, landing next to a dead Irishman.

Bell clambered onto him in a full mount and brought the pain. Straights, hooks, hammer-strikes, elbows, Bell delivered unrelenting blows that bloodied Lee’s face. Some of Bell’s knuckles split open against his teeth. His other knuckles were dislocating from crashing into the man’s bony face.

Another searing pain struck Bell in the back of the head, and he felt his system short for half a second. He regained control of his faculties in time to stop himself from collapsing onto Lee. Johnson grabbed him by the back of the shirt and hurled him to the side to free his comrade. Bell raised his arms in an attempt to defend himself, but Johnson’s furious swings were faster.

The pain reverberated throughout his body, deep in his bones. His arms, legs, ribs – Johnson was swinging like a madman while Bell was on the ground. The frequency of the infuriated swings doubled when Lee recovered and joined in. The steel batons pummeled against Bell. His uniform tore on impact from several strikes from the batons’ tapered tips. Bones were fractured. Organs were ruptured. Skin was torn.

Bell never let go of his goddamn cigarette.

“That’s enough.”

The COs halted their overwhelming assault. Bell let out a low groan as he dragged himself back on his elbows. Warden Gates was stepping up to stand by either side of his bruised and bloodied officers. Bell glared up at them with disdain as he found a wall to prop himself up against.

He took the cigarette from his lips to let out a long plume of smoke. With a crooked, bloody grin, Bell laughed, “Goddamn, boys. Look at you two. An old man did that to you two?”

Bell’s laughing turned to wet, bloody coughs as he was reminded of his internal bleeding. He let out a groan and leaned back against the wall.

Gates’ bearded face glared down at Bell, “It didn’t have to go this way, David.”

“Kiss my ass, Gates.”

“Bell, you son of a bitch,” Gates’ lip curled into a sneer, “You know what you did?”

“Threw a wrench in your half-assed plan?”

Gates motioned to the bloodstained floors and walls in the body-strewn visitation hall, “You know how much fucking money this cost, David? You know how many bribes – how many moving pieces this took?”

Bell gave them his wicked grin, “I hope it was a whole fuckin’ lot, Gates.”

“Three different cell blocks to move these dead men into place, cutting off surveillance, delaying riot control, keeping security off – those are the mountains I had to move!”

Bell’s grin didn’t waver. He would have laughed if it weren’t for the blood in his lungs.

“These people trusted me to take care of Topp and anyone else with him, David. They’re not going to rely on us for anything now.” Gates took a step closer, waving his gun around in frustration as he spoke, “Does trust mean anything to you? After the fifteen years we’ve worked together, I thought we had an understanding.”

Bell rolled his eyes at Gates, “You’re a dramatic fuckin’ princess, Gates. You’re worse than Topp, Jesus Christ.”

“Why, David? Why’d you uncuff Topp? Why give him a fucking shiv?”

It was an easy answer, but it wasn’t one that Gates would understand.

Semper Fi. Always loyal.

There is a certain camaraderie and respect that is bred among young men in a faraway land, surrounded by other men that want them dead. When gunfire is ringing in your ears and you’re watching your friend from Basic bleed out while a corpsman struggles to staunch the flow, something changes. When you don’t know if the next projectile flying your way is a bullet or a rocket propelled grenade, there is only one certainty.

That is the certainty that the man next to you would gladly give up his life to protect yours. Strength is drawn from that knowledge, more potent than any other source. It grants the courage, the will, the power to fight, to protect the man beside you that would die for you at a moment’s notice.

It wasn’t a bond that most civilians could begin to understand. He wouldn’t hold it against them, either.

Bell may not have served with Topp, but he’d heard enough. He knew how Topp won that Navy Cross. He’d read the medal citation when it went around veterans’ groups months ago. Bell knew that Topp would die for any one of his men. It was only fair that Bell would risk his life for another Marine, as he’d done numerous times before.

And Topp wasn’t any ordinary goddamn Marine either. He lost his entire family and went on a warpath to avenge them. Bell had read Page’s article on him. As soon as he learned Topp was being sent to Rikers, he made sure to try and make the man’s acquaintance.

Bell shortened his stays in solitary confinement. He paid off other guards to move some Cartel, biker, and Irish assholes out of Topp’s cellblock. The man still got attacked left and right, but at least he didn’t get jumped in his own block for the most part.

Then there was Blondie. The chick that Topp looked at like she was the best goddamn thing in the world that happened to him since his life went to shit. Bell figured maybe she _was_. Topp could whine and deny it all he wanted like the little shit he was. But Bell saw through that bullshit. Blondie made Topp happy. That was all Bell needed to know.

When he learned of the hit being planned, Bell volunteered to pick Topp up, claiming that Topp trusted him. Gates, being the arrogant dumbshit he was, believed him. Bell went straight to August Marks in cellblock D, placing his own bets on Topp and making the arrangements for when he survived the attack. Then he reached out to Harris and made sure he led the riot control unit that would storm the visitation room.

When he saw Blondie in visitation, any last shred of doubt Bell held left him. This was Topp’s chance. If only the self-sacrificing idiot would pull his head out of his ass for one goddamn second to realize what he had with Blondie. Maybe he would. A part of Bell wished he’d live to see it. But Bell wasn’t naïve. He knew this was it.

“Why, David? Huh?” Gates asked again, snapping Bell out of his hazy mind. Bell looked up at the warden, closer now, gun trained at his head.

Bell took a final drag of his cigarette. He flicked it in Gates’ direction, bouncing it off the warden’s shoe. He let the smoke come out in a long, steady exhale as the nicotine dulled his senses.

“Semper Fi.” Bell flipped Gates off.

The warden’s lips curled into a snarl. He took deliberate aim at Bell’s head. His finger slid free from the pistol’s trigger guard, wrapping around the trigger.

Bell had stared death in the eyes many times before. Whether it was deafening mortar fire tearing up his platoon or the chaos of his first _real_ prison riot. Looking down the barrel of Gates’ gun was no different.

Bell bought Topp and Blondie some time. That was enough for him.

The warden’s finger began to pull back.

Bell was ready.

* * *

Courtney’s cold, blank eyes stared through the passenger seat’s window. She rested her chin in her hand, her forehead pressing against the cool glass.

Ian was silent in the driver’s seat of her car for some time. She didn’t miss him shooting the occasional worried glance in her direction. Courtney heard him sigh as they came upon a traffic jam. He tugged the handbrake up and placed his bearded face in his hand.

They’d just pulled into Manhattan from East Harlem and were easing their way into the dense city. Her sullen eyes couldn’t take in the industrial sights around them. She didn’t see the chain-link fences, the brick buildings, or the distant smokestacks.

All she could see was the Irishman’s horrified face as she jammed the shiv into his windpipe.

The blood, all the blood everywhere – staining her white blouse, filling the cracks of the floor tiles, seeping underneath her nails, spilling into her mouth.

The biker’s massive arm constricting her airways, muscles bulging and threatening to snap her neck in two.

Shayne’s limp body hitting the ground, his skull rocking back as the biker pummeled into him.

His voice calling her nickname out for the first time to pull her out of the shock.

The tender kiss Shayne placed to her blood smeared forehead.

A hollow numbness filled her chest, like an endless, unfathomably deep chasm. No tears came. After puking and thoroughly gargling her mouth out in the women’s restroom, she let the waterworks free. Courtney expended all her tears while Harris dressed the cut on her side then stood guard outside. She’d done all her sobbing and ugly crying into the phone asking Ian to pick her up to drive her, and to bring a change of clothes.

Courtney shifted slightly; head still pressed to the cold window. Her downcast eyes looked down at the Smosh hoodie and sweats that Ian lent her. Her eyes settled on her hands – still far too reddish and sticky for her liking, even after she spent an entire five minutes and half a bottle of soap washing them.

Her phone buzzed on her lap, signaling a call. Courtney’s sluggish hand turned it over to check the cracked display. It was a grim reminder of her time with Grotto – the last time she had blood stuck under her fingernails for far too long.

Olivia’s face lit up the screen’s splintered glass. She ran a finger over the grimy surface and raised it up.

“How is he?” Courtney asked.

“He’s alive,” Olivia answered.

Courtney knew he would be. That was no surprise. This was the goddamn Punisher they were talking about. The man took a bullet to the head. He could take a beating. It was the fact that Olivia chose the ominous term _alive,_ instead of something like _okay,_ that made Courtney uneasy.

“Is he awake? C-could you put him on?”

“He’s out like a light, Court. Doc said the shiv missed a major tendon along the arm. He’s not gonna be throwing a mean left hook anytime soon, but there’s no permanent damage.”

Just when Courtney thought she couldn’t shed anymore tears, her eyes grew damp. She could see the moment in her head crystal clear. He practically threw his arm into the shiv so he could deal with his attacker and get to her. Shayne had no regard for his own wellbeing, and it was as frustrating as it was saddening.

“What about his leg?”

“Nicked something major, but no lasting arterial damage. He’s gonna be in crutches for a bit, but he’ll recover.”

Olivia was silent for a beat, then added, “His face looks like he got hit by a train. Again, no permanent damage. He’ll be as pretty as the day we met him soon enough.”

The quiet chuckle bubbled out of Courtney’s bruised throat, mixing with the sob that lingered therein. “Tell him I’m safe, please.”

“Sure thing. How are you feeling?”

“Like shit. But I’ll be okay,” Courtney sighed.

“Don’t force yourself to come into court tomorrow, okay?” The concern was plain as day in Olivia’s voice, “Shayne shouldn’t either. Reyes is still bringing evidence and witnesses forward. We aren’t scheduled to bring the expert or character witnesses in for a while.”

The mention of Reyes’ name brought Courtney’s blood to a boil. She did her best to reel it in through grit teeth. Courtney had no doubt in her mind that Reyes was behind the ambush. They kicked her ass in the courtroom, and she was fighting back dirty. A public visitation room doesn’t get emptied out with blacked out cams and vacant guards just like that. This was a planned hit.

After more reassurances from Courtney, and threats from Olivia to have the bailiffs bar her from entering the courtroom, they hung up. Courtney rubbed her thumb over the broken screen, trying to get the grimy bloody residue off.

“Court… you know the last thing I’d wanna do is push you, right?” Ian’s smooth voice caught her attention.

She turned her downtrodden expression to him and gave a shrug, but nodded, “I know.”

“What happened back there? All you said was that shit hit the fan, you needed clothes, and weren’t in any shape to drive.”

Courtney gulped.

Fucked up shit like what just went down – they tended to get stored into her memory differently. They weren’t still images or brief blow by blow recollections. White-hot flashes of emotion and physical sensations accompanied the memories.

The uncertain weight of her stalker’s cold gun in her hands as she trained it on him. The scalding hot fury in her chest when she unloaded it into him.

The mortal fear of looking into Shayne’s eyes in the stairwell. The way her heart caught in her throat when she couldn’t even try to utter a plea of mercy.

The abject horror of shivving the inmate in the throat and seeing his face twist in pain and terror. The taste of his sickeningly warm blood on her tongue.

The stars she saw as Mike choked the life out of her, and his hot pungent breath wafting down to her face.

The warmth that flooded her chest from the comfort and security of hearing the conviction in Shayne’s voice. The knowledge that he’d do anything to keep her safe.

The chilly dread, stronger than any she’d felt before, watching Shayne’s limp body being walloped by the large biker. The certainty she felt settling into her bones – more certain than anything in her life – when she dived onto the biker’s back to stab him in the neck.

The tingles she felt that lit her skin up like fire, hearing her nickname in Shayne’s wavering voice to cut through the shock. The deep nauseating pit in her stomach that formed as she surveyed the numerous injuries that he sustained to protect her.

The sharp pang in her heart when Shayne meekly tugged her close to press his bloody lips to her head. The fact that he was worried for her safety above all else, even as he was the one bleeding to death.

“It was a trap,” Courtney finally said, “By Reyes, probably. Not that we can prove it.”

Ian glanced at her, then back at the road as the traffic began to clear. “What do you mean, Courtney? This wasn’t some riot gone wrong?”

Courtney scoffed, “Is that what they’re saying it was?”

Ian gave a nonchalant shrug, “I dunno, but I bet it’s what they’re gonna say.”

“The cams were off. There weren’t any guards inside or outside the room,” Courtney let out a humorless laugh, “I was distracted. Should’ve seen it coming.”

“Court, no way you could’ve known.” Ian kept his focus on the road as he depressed the gas pedal.

“No, you don’t get it. It was so obvious, Ian. There were five inmates in there with no visitors. I didn’t realize what was wrong until it was too late. I was busy thinking about giving Shayne his damn yogurt.”

“Even if you figured it out, I don’t think it would’ve made much of a difference,” Ian reasoned.

Courtney sighed and turned to look back out the window. “Maybe.”

“So, it was five inmates, and you and Shayne?”

It was easier to talk about it now that the waterworks were gone. Ian always told her she should try therapy. Courtney figured he could temporarily fill that role for now.

“He stepped in, dropped a shiv on my table, and told me it was a trap.”

“You two kicked their butts?” Ian offered a sympathetic smile.

Courtney’s hands fidgeted on her lap, scrubbing away at the unseen blood that stained them. “He saved my life, Ian. I think I saved his too.”

“There was this big guy, and I mean, _really_ big. He got me in like,” Courtney gesticulated as she spoke, “A headlock.”

“Did your boy Topp do some sick Punisher shit to save you?” Ian asked.

Courtney found a small smile worm its way up to her face. It was a talent of Ian’s. In the way he spoke, the tones he chose, the words he deliberately picked, the manner he structured his sentences. It was all to try and break away the tension. Keep things light, even when they were undoubtedly anything but. Only Ian would refer to surviving a prison ambush as _kicking butts_ , and Shayne saving her life as _some sick Punisher shit_.

“Shayne must’ve thought it was too risky. He played hostage negotiator instead, and convinced the guy to let me go.”

“Wow. I wouldn’t have guessed.”

Courtney was sure to leave out Shayne’s heartfelt and hauntingly solemn declaration that convinced Mike to free her.

“He tackled Shayne and wailed on him, Ian. I thought he was done for,” Courtney’s voice cracked, “He was just like, _lying_ there for a while.”

“Then _you_ did some sick Punisher shit to save him?”

Her unexpected laughter staved off the emotions threatening to rear back up. “So dumb,” She shook her head, and confirmed, “Yeah, kinda.”

“You two really are a match made in psycho-heaven,” Ian muttered.

The unexpected jab made her heart flutter, and for the familiar guilt to surge up to overpower it.

“Hey, don’t say that,” Courtney scolded. The mirth had died down as quickly as it came. As deeply as she cared for Shayne, this wasn’t a joking matter. “The guy lost his family, Ian. I couldn’t replace – it’s not right. Don’t say that.”

Ian raised a placating hand as he spoke, “Okay. I’m sorry. What happened next?”

Courtney told him about riot control. How Shayne promised her that Harris would make sure she got out in one piece. She told him of how they dragged his unconscious, bleeding body out of the visitation hall. She lapsed into silence after that, not having much more to tell Ian about the incident. A part of Courtney was glad she’d run out of tears for the time being. She preferred the numb hole in her chest over being a babbling, weeping mess.

She worried for Shayne. Her heart – her entire being – hurt for him. Once Keith, Noah, and Olivia left the infirmary, he’d be alone and defenseless.

Courtney saw him fight for the first time today. She’d seen his handiwork before in the dozens of morgue reports and crime scene photos. To see it up close was more than a little terrifying. He fought with such raw, efficient anger and brutality. A part of her was glad she’d been forced to fight off that one inmate herself. If she had to sit by and watch as Shayne dispatched all of their attackers, she might have lost her lunch then and there.

There was a certain fear that came from watching him kill so effortlessly. The fear chilled down her spine at the thought of the sort of carnage he could unleash. The dark look in his eyes as he ruthlessly dismantled his enemies. It was like he was a whole different person when it came down to it.

Courtney had to remind herself that those hands that cracked a toothbrush through a man’s skull like it was nothing – those were the same hands that held his daughter while he read her bedtime stories. Those were the same hands he used to hold his wife when they danced. Those were the same hands he’d used to cup her face while he promised her it would all be okay.

The fear _of_ Shayne subsided as swiftly as it came. He would never hurt anyone that didn’t deserve it. And those assholes certainly deserved it.

Courtney then began to fear _for_ Shayne again. He was capable – hell, he could be the most capable fighter in that entire prison. But not in that state. Not beaten to shit with a hole in his arm and bleeding half to death from the leg. If anyone tried to finish the job, he was done for.

Ian must have sensed her sinking mood. He didn’t give her the chance to continue to dwell and ruminate on the dark, oppressive thoughts in her mind.

“You said we’re going to Midtown, right? Not to your apartment in Hell’s Kitchen?”

Courtney hummed in affirmation, and added, “Global Strays, by 32nd and 6th.”

“You, uh – you gonna adopt a dog or something?”

“While Shayne was targeting the Irish, he broke up a dogfighting ring. One Pitbull named Max had a hurt paw, so Shayne took him back to his lair,” Courtney didn’t miss Ian’s face at her choice of words, “They ended up taking a liking to each other. Cops wound up taking Max to the shelters when Shayne was arrested.”

“So, you wanna keep the lil guy out of the system?” Ian asked.

“Mhm,” She hummed, “He’s a real sweetheart too.”

“Shayne or Max?” Ian turned his shit-eating grin to Courtney.

“Ian!” Courtney scolded. She crossed her arms and looked out the window as Ian cackled at her flushed cheeks.

The rest of the drive went by without incident, and they soon arrived at the shelter. Courtney smoothed down her clothes once she stepped out of the car.

The two looked up at the building, but Courtney was quickly distracted by a sidewalk vendor. The man was selling Punisher merch. Numerous black shirts with white skulls hung from the racks, along with a selection of mugs. Courtney’s resolve was tested once more by those shirts that looked far too comfortable than they had any right to be. It probably wouldn’t hurt to pick one shirt out…

“Hey, you want me to grab us some coffee while you get Max?”

Courtney turned her attention back to Ian, blinking a few times as she processed the question. She noticed the small coffeeshop next to the shelter and could smell the fresh brews from here. She spared one last glance at the Punisher shirts. Maybe next time.

“Uh – yeah, sure. I’ll see you in a minute.”

With that, they split off. Courtney entered the considerably well-kept shelter. The staff had grown familiar with her at this point and were hiding their concerned grimaces behind polite smiles. The bruises and cuts on her face weren’t that bad – especially if you compared them to Shayne’s – but she still made for an unusual and troubling sight. Not every day you see the pretty blonde lady looking like she braved a barfight.

Courtney was led back to Max’s enclosure, where the staff clipped a collar and a leash to the now excited Pitbull. Max lapped away at Courtney’s hand while she gave the dog a happy scratch on the head. She walked back to the front desk, where she signed the adoption papers and got everything in order.

Courtney’s apartment papers to have a pet hadn’t been finalized yet, but fuck that. She was adopting the overgrown pup today, and nobody could stop her. Max patiently sat at her side, looking up at her with a tilt of the head.

Once all the documentation was complete, Courtney shook the staff member’s hand and was on her way. Ian was leaning against her car, two coffee cups in hand. His face split into a smile at the sight of the dark Pitbull. Max obediently followed along and came to sniff at Ian’s foot. Ian handed Courtney her coffee before turning his attention to Max.

“Hey, little guy,” Ian cooed as he bent down to pat the dog.

Max snorted at Ian’s hand and turned away.

“Hey,” Ian’s dejected voice came out, “What gives?”

Courtney giggled at Max’s apparent distaste for Ian. He patted Max in an attempt to win him over. Max just sat with his back turned to Ian, choosing instead to look up at Courtney.

“Do I need to stab an inmate to get his respect or something?”

Courtney gave Ian a look but couldn’t push back the smile. Max hopped into the backseat of the car with little fuss. Ian returned to the driver’s seat, while Courtney got in place beside him. Shayne must have driven around with Max when he wasn’t punishing. The dog seemed used to riding in a car without argument. The day felt just a smidge less horrible with Max panting in the backseat.

* * *

Shayne extended his arm, allowing Nicole to perform her elegant twirl under the spotlight’s glare. With a gentle, yet deliberate tug, she returned to his arms, her white wedding gown flowing in the air.

They stepped in sync with a cat-like grace. Nicole tilted her head to study Shayne as they danced. Her dark hair gave an alluring sway as she moved.

“Whatcha lookin’ at?” Shayne asked.

“Just thinkin’,” Nicole answered with a wistful smile.

“Yeah? What about?”

Nicole stepped, allowing Shayne to deftly slide his foot forward. He held her firmly yet delicately as he bent over, allowing her to dip low. Her hands were secure around his neck.

Shayne went through the familiar motions, pulling her back up and turning to follow her steps.

“I’m happy for you,” Nicole declared.

Shayne gave her a confused look, “Happy for me? For the hole in my arm or the four in my leg?”

His sass earned him a smack on the arm from Nicole, and her disapproving frown. Her expression lightened just as quickly, and she apologetically rubbed the spot she hit.

“You know what I’m talking about.” Her head lolled to one side in a playful gesture.

“Really? Do I?”

Nicole rolled her eyes and lowered her voice mockingly, “ _Really? Do I?_ ” She giggled then and squeezed his arm, “God, lighten up, babe.”

There were times Shayne thought about these moments. Losing consciousness as a result of severe injury wasn’t at all uncommon to Shayne. These _dreams,_ or whatever they were, cropped up often enough that he stopped questioning them for the most part. Shayne always chalked it up to his subconscious keeping him in the fight. Yet another part of him dared to wonder if it was something more. Because he couldn’t write this shit. Nicole was so quintessentially like herself, it was like talking to her in the flesh, even if their conversations never went on for too long.

“You’re thinking too hard, dummy.”

Shayne shook his head fondly, choosing instead to focus on the sway of their hips and the practiced step of their feet. Before the silence could linger, Nicole pulled back gently and levelled her gaze at him.

“My feet hurt.”

“Babe,” Shayne chuckled, “It’s barely been a minute.”

Nicole didn’t immediately respond to that. Instead, she ran one hand up the back of his neck. Her fingers settled by the fuzz at the back of his head. He closed his eyes as he leaned into her touch. This was something she always did when he got back from deployment. Sometimes, the thought of her delicate fingers brushing past the short hair at the back of his head was what lulled him to sleep overseas. Nicole often said it was a good gauge to determine how long he’d been home. The longer the hair, and the less fuzzy it got, the longer he’d been back.

Shayne opened his eyes to watch Nicole. She pulled away slowly and deliberately, her hand lingering by his neck a moment longer. Once her hand returned to her side, she took a step back, towards the inky darkness beyond their spotlight.

Fear began to brew within him. The thought of her leaving and disappearing in the inky blackness made his chest tighten. He never wanted to see her go.

Instead, their bright spotlight grew. The spreading radius of light around them revealed a simple wooden chair that Nicole was quick to claim. She crossed her legs with a certain elegance and settled her hands over her knees. Then in from the pitch blackness walked Courtney Miller of all people. Her short blonde hair was neatly styled, and she wore a fashionable black dress that hugged her figure. She was stunning.

Shayne blinked several times to comprehend the scene unfolding before him.

“Mind if I tag in?” Courtney’s bashful voice asked.

He never could say no to Courtney when she asked him that sweetly.

Shayne glanced once at Nicole, who grinned as wide as a Cheshire cat.

With a shrug, Shayne extended his hand for Courtney to take. Her soft hand in his own brought a familiar sensation of comfort. His other hand on her hip elicited a different sensation. Courtney had held his hands numerous times already to help center him back in reality. Holding onto the curve of her hip was different. It was nice, if not a little unfamiliar and new.

His overthinking must have appeared obvious to Courtney. She sensed his uncertainty and promptly took the lead. He followed her quick, graceful steps, matching them point for point, albeit with a rigid back and stiff legs.

“You’re so tense,” Courtney fixed him with a good-natured frown. “Ease up. It’s just me, babe. No biggie.”

There was a flutter in Shayne’s chest as his face scrunched up in confusion at the unexpected pet name, “What the fuck?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, guys and gals! Be sure to drop an F in chat for our boy Bell. This was originally supposed to be a longer chapter, with Bell's death offscreen. Then I realized I couldn't do Bell dirty like that, so I had to include him going down like a champ. It ended up making the chapter a bit too long, so I decided to split them up to make them more digestible.
> 
> Fun fact: Bell is named after a real-life Medal of Honor recipient whose memoir I've read, SSG. David Bellavia. The name Bell hit me completely out of nowhere when I first made his character. It wasn't until a few days after that I realized I pulled Bell from David Bellavia's nickname. Up until then, I just remembered that there was a character I liked with that name.
> 
> Also, before you ask why Max doesn't like Ian, I'll tell you straight - I'm not sure either, but it felt like a funny running gag to set up that Max loves everyone but snorts at Ian.
> 
> I'll catch you guys at the next update!


	12. Remorse and the Lack Thereof

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shayne wakes up. Ian orders in dinner. Courtney reflects on her actions.

“What the fuck…” Shayne grumbled.

His bleary eyes began to shift into focus. The rough amorphous shapes around him swirled and turned until they began to make sense. He could make out three silhouettes sharing the room with him. Shayne was vaguely aware that they were trying to speak to him, but he couldn’t make heads or tails of their words.

When it became apparent that Shayne wasn’t able to make sense of his surroundings, the three people in the room quieted down and backed away. He winced just then, feeling a blinding pain in his forearm, and a numbing underlying pain from his leg. After a minute of squinting and blinking, Shayne could finally distinguish the three figures. His legal team was here. They were in his cellblock’s drab grey and blue infirmary, which was clear of any occupants save for themselves.

“How you feelin’, man?” Keith asked.

“Courtney?”

Her name left his mouth before he could even process the thought.

Olivia spoke up, “She’s okay. Her boss-slash-friend, Ian, picked her up a little while ago. They left before we got here. She’s safe.”

Shayne let out a ragged breath he hardly remembered taking. The relief crashed over him like a wave, and Shayne let his head flop back down to his pillow. A part of him wanted to ask to speak to her, but he shut that down in a hurry. Courtney killed a man in self-defense today and witnessed the mess he could make firsthand. She was no doubt reeling from it all and wanted nothing to do with him for the time being. It was best that she stayed far away from him where she didn’t have a target on her back. If he lost her too-

Shayne gulped and buried the thought away.

Another surge of anxiety hit Shayne as his eyes wandered over his legal team. These three were in danger by just _being_ here with him. Reyes’ lackeys might try again.

“What the fuck are you three doing here?” Shayne sat back up, grimacing as the pain surged through his body.

Shayne let it out far harsher than he intended.

“Jeez, nice to see you too, bud,” Noah grumbled.

“Reyes,” Shayne grunted as he tried to swing his legs over the side of the bed. A sharper pain shot through his body, and he was forced to properly reassess his injuries for the first time. He’d been changed into a loose white shirt and looser grey pants. His right thigh was heavily bandaged underneath the thin fabric. His left forearm was just as intensely wrapped and supported by a sling. An IV needle stuck out of said arm. A crutch was leaning against the wall next to his bed.

He couldn’t do a visual check, but Shayne felt it was safe to assume he had stitches on his arm, leg, and upper back. He pressed a hand to his torso and felt the dressing of the cut along his chest. That one didn’t appear as deep as the rest.

“Woah, my man, you ain’t in any condition to be standin’ up.” Keith reached Shayne’s bedside. He placed a firm hand on Shayne’s shoulder to guide him back into lying down.

Shayne huffed out an irate sigh, shooting Keith a halfhearted glare. He carefully dragged his banged-up leg back onto the bed

“What about Reyes?” Olivia asked once he settled down. Just as the question slipped out of her lips, clarity appeared to hit her, “Wait – did – are you saying Reyes was behind this?”

“What did they tell you?” Shayne asked with a frown. It seemed so obvious to him. Who else could be behind it? Yet Shayne quickly realized this was _Rikers_ , one of the shittiest and most violent prisons around. They could’ve easily been fed another story. Hell, in their position, he probably would’ve believed whatever gruesome tale was spun.

“They said a riot broke out and was contained in visitation,” Olivia explained, the discomfort growing on her face.

Shayne scoffed, shaking his head with an angry curl at his lip, “It wasn’t a riot. It was a goddamn ambush.”

“An ambush?” Noah asked, now wearing a frown to match everyone else’s, “What about the COs? Couple of them got beat up, did they try to intervene?”

Shayne’s heart just about flatlined.

“What? What are you talking about?”

Keith hesitated, but broke the news, “They said some COs were hurt durin’ the _riot_. An inmate got hold of a gun, too. One CO was shot dead.”

Shayne was silent for a long moment as his blood ran cold, the prickly fear running down his spine.

“Who? What was his name?”

“The names, uh – they’re here…” Olivia turned to Noah. The man in question reached into his briefcase and pulled an envelope free. As he did, Olivia explained, “We got a copy of the incident report. As your legal representation, they called us over as soon as the riot ended. We’re hoping to use this incident as a reason to transfer you to protective custody.”

Olivia’s explanation barely registered in Shayne’s now ringing ears.

“Liv, please, the name.” Shayne’s hoarse voice called out.

Sensing his urgency, Olivia retrieved the report from Noah. Her eyes scanned the page, a finger trailing along as she read the report.

“Uh, five dead inmates… two wounded correctional officers, Steven Johnson and Alan Lee. One dead correctional officer, David Bell.”

Shayne blinked, quickly finding his vision blurring yet again. He raised a hand to cover his mouth as his mind blanked.

“They got Bell?” The crack in his voice was unmistakable. Shayne scrubbed at his eyes with a rough hand, blinking back the dampness.

They owed Bell their lives and this was what he got in return. A gunshot to the head to cover up an attempted prison assassination. Another goddamn casualty in the race to bury the truth of what happened in Central Park. He wasn’t going to be the last casualty if Reyes got another shot at them.

Shayne heard of Warden Gates before. From what Bell told him, Gates was a greedy, ruthless son of a bitch. Shayne knew the warden was going to retaliate for Bell sabotaging his plans. It was inevitable. He just didn’t expect it to happen _this_ soon. There was a numb remorse that was settling into Shayne’s gut, for all the times he could’ve been less of a grouchy asshole to the older Marine.

He bottled the sorrow up. He was in goddamn Rikers, wounded to shit. He didn’t have time to grieve Bell. Shayne let the sadness morph into anger for the time being. The warden, and anyone else involved in Bell’s death were going to get what was coming to them. He would make sure of it.

“I’m sorry, Shayne… you knew him?” Olivia asked with no shortage of caution.

Shayne leaned back into the infirmary bed, letting out a defeated sigh.

“They told him to keep me cuffed,” Shayne’s eyes darted about, settling anywhere but his friends’ faces. “He didn’t. He freed me so I could fight. Gave me a shiv to give Court.”

Shayne told them everything. From Bell’s warning all those days ago, to his dying act to give he and Courtney a fighting chance. He told them (albeit in less gruesome detail) of the brutal two on five fight they endured. He told them he had to talk one man out of snapping Courtney’s neck, before said man pummeled him into the dirt. He told them of how Courtney saved his life with a shiv to Mike’s neck. He told them of how Bell made sure he had an inside man lead the riot control officers to extract them safely.

Keith leaned against one wall, arms crossed, features twisted into a frown. Noah paced the room with furious steps, hands in his pockets to stop them from fidgeting. Olivia held her envelope so tight it looked ready to rip in half.

“Normally, I’d say there ain’t any proof, but this has got her fingerprints all over it,” Keith’s frustrated voice let out, “If only we could prove it.”

“Who the fuck does she think she is?” Noah spat, “This is conspiracy to commit attempted double homicide!”

“Would’ve been quintuple homicide if you three were with us like they planned,” Shayne said.

Olivia’s eyes ran over Shayne’s battered body, and her grip on the envelope eased by a smidge, “Shayne, we’ll work on getting you protective custody. There’s no telling when or how she’ll try again. We’re not losing you to these underhanded tactics.”

“I’m not losing you three over them either.” Shayne’s tone left little room for argument. Yet he knew them well enough to know they’d argue anyway.

“Mm-mm, nah man, you ain’t shooin’ us away just like that.”

“These people are out to get you, Shayne. We’re not gonna stand by and do nothing.”

“Look,” Shayne grunted, “I like you three. You’re a bunch of real hardasses and you don’t take shit from anyone, even an asshole like me.”

“But these people are serious,” Shayne let his gaze settle on each of the members of his legal team, “They’re killers. I can’t watch out for myself and you three at the same time. Get away from Rikers.”

Shayne continued on, “You can do more good out there than in here. That’s your territory. This prison is a fucking lawless hellhole. You three gotta stay away from me.” Nobody else was dying on his watch. Bell would be the last. “Same goes for Courtney. She needs to stay out of here.”

It had to be said. It pained him to be away from her for long. But he’d rather she be out there and alive while he missed her, rather than visiting him in Rikers with a massive target painted on her back. Courtney needed to be as far away from him as possible. Far away from the shitshow that was his life.

“We could trade in your visitation time for phone time,” Noah conceded, “Keep you posted on the trial’s progress that way.”

“Case is solid,” Olivia agreed, “Not much more we need to discuss, anyway.”

“You better focus on gettin’ better, Shayne,” Keith chided, “We’re gonna nail Reyes, but your ass needs to behave in the meantime.”

Shayne let out a low chuckle, “Yeah. Can do.” He waved them off, “C’mon, get outta here before it gets dark.”

At Shayne’s urging, Leak and Grossman prepared to make their exit to avoid any further trouble. Before they stepped out, a lightbulb appeared to go on above Keith’s head. He reached into his bag as he spoke, “This CO named Harris came by while you were unconscious. He said that Courtney told him to make sure you got this.”

Keith extended a cup of goddamn strawberry Macrogurt for Shayne to take, along with a plastic spoon. He tried not to notice the tiniest bloodstain at the bottom of the cup.

“Oh my God,” Shayne muttered as he accepted the yogurt, “You’re shitting me, right?”

“No shittin’, my man. Your girl Court really wanted you to get this,” Keith laughed.

Shayne fixed his dumbstruck eyes on the little cup of yogurt. He really didn’t deserve Courtney Miller.

“Could you, uh – just check in on her for me?”

Keith gave a solemn nod, “Will do, man. You rest up now, ya hear?”

Shayne raised the Macrogurt in their direction and gave a grateful bow as they left. He heartily dug into the cup. The sweet, tangy flavor flooded his mouth. Shayne closed his eyes as he savored the flavor.

He was back in Metro-General. The straps were loosely bound around his hands and wrapped across his chest. The quiet hum of the central air conditioning system filled the room. The soft, if not a little lumpy, mattress cushioned his body. The smell of alcohol and industrial cleaner permeated the air. Courtney sat at his bedside, a soothing hand on his arm. Her gorgeous smile was a shining beacon that guided him through the darkness.

Shayne didn’t think he’d ever miss being tied down to a hospital bed, but here he was. At least he wasn’t dodging murderers left and right back in Metro-General. The worst he had to contend with were the nurses’ homicidal glares in his direction.

Shayne had peace and quiet for all of five minutes before the infirmary door swung open.

Shayne’s head snapped to the door as three inmates strode in, blocking the doorway.

The fight within Shayne bubbled back up to his chest. He took heavy breaths, flooding the oxygen into his system. He set the empty cup down and curled his hands into fists, and he was quick to force himself to sit up. His limbs cried out in pain as he swung his legs over the side of the bed. If these shitbags were here to finish the job, he was going to make them work for it.

They were black men, from one of the gangs Shayne hadn’t yet tussled with. The one at the lead was a man around his age. He kept his chin up and carried himself with a sense of self-assuredness.

Shayne yanked his arm sling off, ignoring the fact he may have opened a few stitches. He hopped off the bed, bracing himself so his leg didn’t buckle when he hit the ground. Shayne grabbed the crutch leaning on the wall next to him and swung it over his shoulder like a baseball bat. The IV stand fell to the ground with a loud crash as Shayne got into a fighting stance.

“You shitbags wanna end up like those dead assholes in visitation, you take one more goddamn step forward,” Shayne growled, “Come on!”

The man at the lead watched him with alarmed eyes and raised his hands in a gesture of peace, “Calm down, Mr. Topp. We ain’t here to start anything.”

“Yeah?” Shayne narrowed his eyes at the three as his hands shook from the effort of having the crutch cocked and ready to swing.

“We’re just here to talk, Mr. Topp. I’m August Marks.” He introduced himself.

There were a loose couple of memories Shayne had of the man. Shayne didn’t associate with anyone in Rikers, let alone make anyone’s acquaintance. Except for Bell.

Although Shayne _did_ do his best to keep tabs on who’s who. Shayne knew the Cartel shitbags were led by some guy named Julio in another cellblock. He knew the Irish answered to an inmate named Galen in yet another cellblock. He knew the Dogs answered to a Tom in his cellblock, but most of the bikers were isolated in other cellblocks.

August was from a cellblock on the other end of Rikers, but he had men everywhere. The guy was a local bigshot and was the king of non-drug related contraband. You want your exotic ramen seasonings, girly mags, and flip phones, you go to August.

“Now, Mr. Topp, I know you ain’t got no love for me and my crew. But we don’t got nothin’ personal with you either, hm?”

“What do you want, August?” Shayne’s voice was low, and he spoke with a bite in his tone. Keeping the image up was important, so Shayne didn’t lower the crutch he brandished like a deadly weapon. Shayne refused to acknowledge that the bandages on his leg were now in dire need of a changing. He told himself if he didn’t look down at the soiled bandages, it wouldn’t get worse.

“We had a mutual friend, Mr. Topp. Mr. Bell is no longer with us, I’m afraid.”

Shayne’s scowl twitched. His grip around the crutch tightened, the anger oozing out of him from being unable to make Bell’s death mean something. He resisted the urge to hurl the crutch at August like a javelin for even mentioning Bell’s name.

“Mr. Bell placed a large bet on your life, Mr. Topp. He doubled it on account of the girl making it out alive, too,” August paused, watching Shayne closely for any reactions. Shayne kept his glower focused on the man, hands firm around the crutch.

“He got a big payoff outta that bet, Mr. Topp. The money he made went straight to us. Our mutual friend had one last request before the warden’s men took him out.”

Shayne’s heart was back to pounding in his ears, as it had been far too often lately.

“He wanted us to make sure nobody jumped your ass for as long as the money could buy.”

Shayne turned his sizzling glare away from August to look down at the grimy floor tiles. He swallowed the lump in his throat. Leave it to Bell to be looking out for him even from beyond the grave.

“Yeah?” Shayne asked as he looked back up at the man. He rested the crutch on his shoulder and loosened his grip by the slightest amount.

“So, Mr. Topp, we’d like to clarify those terms.” August nodded.

“I don’t suppose your boys are going to stop corrupt COs,” Shayne assumed.

“Hm,” August shook his head with a hum, but clarified, “The hit they just tried, Mr. Topp, was an expensive one. This took a lotta bribes all over the place and on different levels. Warden put all his eggs in one basket, and thanks to our dearly departed Mr. Bell, you cracked all ‘em eggs. COs probably won’t set anythin’ up for a while.”

“But the Irish, bikers, and Cartel? They won’t stop. That’s where we come in, Mr. Topp.”

Shayne grunted, “How much is Bell’s betting money gonna last?”

“How ‘bout one month? Should be enough to get you back into fightin’ shape.”

One month was plenty. With enough determination, Shayne was sure he could cave a skull in with the crutch or strangle a neck with his sling. He probably needed a week or two at best. But of course, a whole month was too good of an opportunity to pass. It would let him regain his strength, so he’d be fully prepared for any assholes that came his way.

Not to mention this was Bell’s last gift to him. This was Bell giving him a shot at living long enough to find that _after_ he was talking about.

“I think one month is fine.” Shayne answered.

August flashed him a toothy smile. “You’re a man that knows a good, straight deal when he sees one. That’s what I like to hear, Mr. Topp.”

Shayne tensed as August crossed the room with even, confident steps. His shoulders relaxed a fraction when the man extended his hand to shake. Shayne took a moment to watch August, as if waiting for a sucker punch or a hidden shiv. When neither came, Shayne lowered the crutch to the ground and gave August a firm handshake.

Satisfied with their agreement, August took a step back. He turned his head to the two men, “Pope, Eli, please help Mr. Topp get his IV stand back up.”

The two in question entered the room to reposition the fallen stand. They tinkered with the IV drip to make sure it was flowing properly.

“They’ll wait for you outside if you need ‘em,” August faced Shayne. “Have a quick recovery now, Mr. Topp.”

“Thanks, August.”

“Don’t thank me, Mr. Topp.”

Shayne completed the thought before August could, “Thank Bell, hm?”

August gave Shayne what could only be described as a remorseful smile, “And may St. Peter accept his stubbly gossipin’ ass at the pearly gates.”

Shayne scoffed out a laugh, “Amen to that.”

* * *

Acting as nonchalantly and as casually as possible was how they got Max up into Courtney’s apartment. They avoided making eye contact with the person manning the desk and made a beeline for the stairs. Courtney assured Ian that she’d work on following those papers up soon.

Courtney locked the door behind them before unclipping Max’s leash. The excitable dog trotted about her apartment, sniffing various bits of furniture, snorting at others. Courtney allowed Max to do his thing and explore the space.

“Want me to grab you a beer?” Ian offered.

Courtney smiled, “That’d be great.”

Ian set off to her refrigerator. Courtney busied herself dumping her bloodied clothes in the bathroom, where they could be a problem for another day. She returned to her dining table and extracted her gun. Ian returned with two beers just as Courtney retrieved her maintenance kit.

“Pizza?” Ian asked.

Courtney’s stomach grumbled on cue. She was reminded of the fact she hurled her lunch out earlier. It was comforting to know she still had an appetite despite it all.

“You read my mind, dude.”

Ian got on the phone with the pizza place while Courtney got to work. She unrolled the cloth onto the table and began taking her pistol apart. Ian watched her with interest once he finished placing the order.

Courtney cleaned the barrel with her new carbon fiber cleaning rods, as per Shayne’s recommendation. Ian curiously reached out to touch the recoil assembly’s spring. Courtney smacked his hand with the cleaning rod.

Ian withdrew his hand, shaking it excessively as if she’d slapped it particularly hard. The activity caught Max’s attention, and he trotted over to look up at Ian.

“Your mama’s violent, isn’t she, boy?” Ian cooed at Max.

Max snorted and turned away once more. Courtney giggled at Ian’s dejected face as Max came to lie down by her side. He busied himself gnawing on his tennis ball.

“Seriously, what did I ever do to him?”

“Maybe he can smell Daisy on you. Or your cats.” Courtney suggested.

They killed time talking over comfortable ground: Smosh, workplace drama, friends, other upcoming stories – the works. In time, the pizza arrived, filling the apartment with its oily, savory aroma. By the time she had her first bite, she was feeling considerably more like herself.

Feeling the resolve and the willpower returning, Courtney dealt with her problems as she always did. Head on in a relentless pursuit.

“Yesterday in court, Reyes brought the city’s chief medical examiner out.”

“Must’ve been rough for you guys,” Ian guessed.

“It was, but Noah’s a killer when it’s time to take on the opposition’s witness.” Courtney took a big mouthful and took her time to chew.

“Find out anything interesting?” Ian asked around a slice of pizza.

“This is off the record for now,” Courtney tilted her head towards Ian to emphasize her point, “I mean it, like, behind closed courtroom doors off the record.”

Ian raised his greasy hand up, like he was about to pledge allegiance to the flag, or swear fealty to a king, “Off the record. Got it.”

Courtney set the crust down onto her plate and said, “The ME admitted to doctoring the Topp family’s autopsy reports, along with one John Doe at the park.”

Ian’s eyes widened and his eyebrows raised in disbelief. His head slanted to the side as if to ask if she was serious. At her nod, he added, “Okay, that’s big.”

“No leads on the John Doe. It’s still a pretty fresh point to check out.” Courtney bit her lip, then added, “I was kind of hoping you could help me out with that one.”

Ian leaned into the chair’s backrest, his clean hand coming up to stroke at his beard in thought. As he did, Courtney went on and pitched out what she’d been thinking so far, “Any use digging into the archives again?”

“That’s a tough one. I mean, the carousel massacre didn’t report the Topp family’s death or the John Doe’s, so…” After a beat, Ian leaned forward, “Best bet would be obituaries and missing person ads around the time of the massacre. We don’t really run much of either on Smosh, so you could try print.”

“Ellison at the Bulletin?” Courtney suggested.

Ellison was a shrewd, critical man whose words and wit were as sharp as his investigative senses. He could be a pain to talk to for sources, since his main negotiating ask would be that the New York Bulletin got the exclusive. While Courtney wouldn’t mind passing up on the story if it meant finding the truth, her loyalties did still lie with Smosh. She’d have to cut him a deal or talk him to a reasonable arrangement if it came down to it.

“It’s worth a shot, but I wouldn’t get my hopes up.” Ian picked his slice of pizza up and looked at it thoughtfully. “Why not try hitting up Matt at the precinct? Drop another box of cigars and ask to see the carousel massacre files. I feel like you’ll have better luck there.”

Matt’s grimace and dirty side eyeing of the carton of cigars was still fresh in her mind.

Courtney let out a low laugh, “You might be right. But I think he’ll help if I _don’t_ give him cigars for his mom.”

Ian raised his eyebrows, “Even better! You get some help _and_ save a few bucks!”

She shook her head with a fond smile just as Max got up on his hind legs to put his paws on her lap. If dogs could smile, Max was giving her a lopsided, lazy smile. Courtney grinned at the dog and scratched at his head with her clean hand.

“We’re gonna get your daddy the justice he deserves, Max.”

The rest of their dinner passed quietly. Ian insisted he clean up while she nursed her cold bottle of beer. Courtney would usually refuse, and opt to join in instead, but she wouldn’t mind just for today. She excused herself momentarily to retreat to her bathroom. After taking care of business, Courtney washed her hands in the sink. She risked a glance at her mirror. When she did, she winced at the sight that awaited her.

Courtney didn’t exactly have a black eye, but it was close. The inmate struck her in the face several times in retaliation to the shiv she stuck into his side. He’d hit her hard enough to tear and make a little lesion on her cheek. Then there was the now scabbing spot by her hairline she gained when she fell to the ground from her perch on Mike’s back. Her eyes then darted to the specks of blood on her neck that she missed. She’d get that later.

She exited the bathroom and narrowly avoided bumping Max with the door. Courtney wasn’t sure if he was sitting guard or being clingy and waiting for her. It might have been a bit of both. Courtney could just make out Ian’s voice in her kitchen.

“…yeah. Even if I told her to take the day off, you know she’d just go out and pick up the investigation.”

There was a pause as whoever was on the other end of the phone, probably Anthony, replied.

“She’s rattled and a little beat up, but she’ll live. Our girl’s a survivor, man.”

Courtney pressed on into the living room with slow steps, Max following close behind. Ian had the phone pressed between his ear and his shoulder. In his hands, he had the leftovers packed up into Tupperware, and was in the process of storing them in her fridge.

“I hear ya. Okay. See you tomorrow.”

Ian fumbled for a moment before successfully completing the task at hand and straightening up. He turned to face the living room, nearly jumping back in surprise when he saw Courtney.

“Jeez, lady, what’s with the sneaking around?”

Courtney laughed, “Oh, I’m sorry I don’t _stomp_ whenever I enter a room.”

Ian waved her off as he went back to the dining table to pick his coat up off one chair’s backrest. “Anyway, I’m gonna get going. Give you a chance to settle down and all that.”

She stepped up to hug her ever-reliable friend tight, “Thanks so much, dude.”

“Hey, don’t mention it. You rest well, okay? God knows you need it.” Ian pulled back, rubbing a comforting hand on her arm.

“I will.” Courtney unlocked the door and held it open for him, “Get home safely.”

“Thanks, Court. See ya.”

Once Ian was on his way, Courtney set the door lock, deadbolt, and chain back into place. In her bathroom, she lowered the toilet cover and sat down. She tugged the hoodie up and over her head, then tossed it onto the floor. A large square bandage was taped into place by the lower ribs on her left side. The inmate had been packing a shiv of his own, and she was lucky to have knocked it out of his hands before he did any serious damage.

Courtney bit her lip as she peeled the bandage away by the tape, wincing as the scabbing flesh stuck to the fabric. She stopped midway to survey the damage. The cut was horizontal, and about four inches in length. Harris said if it sunk any deeper, she would’ve needed stitches. It was an ugly, jagged line, but it would heal in time. She pushed off the toilet and made her way to the kitchen. She was careful this time not to bump Max with the door as he sat by it, ever vigilant.

As per Harris’ instructions, she grabbed a roll of clingwrap to keep the bandage dry while she showered. Back in her bathroom, she used a damp cloth to scrub away at the dried blood surrounding the bandage. She’d gotten most of it in the prison’s bathroom, but shit – she was hyperaware of every square inch of her skin that had the tiniest amount of dark crimson on it. Once that was out of the way, she wrapped the plastic around her lower torso and hopped into the shower.

She welcomed the hot water as she scrubbed away. It didn’t take long for her skin to turn red from the heat and the force she was exerting to rub away any last specks of dried blood. Her eyes were locked once again at the floor drain. The water took the faintest red turn as they swirled and flushed down the steel grating.

Courtney’s skin began to prune by the time she slid down to sit on the shower floor. Her knees were pulled up into her chest, and she lowered her head to meet them. The water poured down into her hair, flushing away all of the Irishman’s blood that had gotten splattered into it.

It was a peculiar feeling that made its home in her bones.

When Courtney shot her stalker eight times, stopping only when the mag ran dry, she was disgusted with herself once the shock subsided. After she was questioned and released from the precinct, the first thing she did when she got home was shower. After throwing up, anyway. She remembered sitting under her shower long enough for the water to turn cold, and only then did she will herself to get up. Keith, Noah, Olivia, and even the jury could tell her all day that she was innocent. That it was self-defense, and that the Castle Doctrine was in effect. That she wasn’t a killer.

Courtney still felt like a killer.

They all had good intentions. From her legal team’s help, to Ian and Anthony doing their best to keep the news off the presses – she couldn’t thank them enough for all they’d done.

But she still saw the concern in their eyes after that. They all shared that same, distant look at her. It was in the past now. They’d all buried that in the recesses of their minds. But when it was still fresh, they sometimes looked at her differently. Like she wasn’t all there, like she was some kind of different person. Because surely the Courtney Miller that shot a man eight times, including five rounds to the back, was another person. It couldn’t be the same Courtney Miller that smiled brightly, joked loudly, and laughed freely with them. Those two people surely couldn’t inhabit the same body.

There was judgment in their eyes – small, fleeting, miniscule enough to miss, but present, nonetheless. She couldn’t blame them then. Courtney had no shortage of judgment for herself back then, or even in the present.

Courtney figured that was one of the things that drew her to Shayne. Aside from all the qualities the man had, there was that common ground that he didn’t yet know they shared. Courtney would never dare to directly equate what happened to her to what happened to his family.

But there was a similarity in the desperation and the singlemindedness of the actions they took as a result of the circumstances. Courtney’s safety was at stake, as was that of her friends. She was terrified and saw no other recourse but the obvious gun in her hands. When worse came to absolute worst, her back to the wall with no way out, Courtney knew what it felt like to be driven to kill.

Shayne’s family was brutally taken away from him, and all the events leading to it were being covered up. He was backed into a corner of his own. The gangs, and the justice system that should’ve protected him were all stacked against him. Courtney could only imagine the desperation, the anger that Shayne felt when he picked a gun up for the first time and took matters into his own hands. To him, there was no other way. Nobody could do it right, so he would do it himself. Courtney could never condone or agree with Shayne’s actions, but she could understand. She could empathize.

Courtney figured maybe Shayne was the only person around that wouldn’t look at her differently knowing what she’d done. He wouldn’t judge her for being a killer.

Courtney murdered that man. She knew it in her heart. The idea of self-defense couldn’t match up with the bullets she let rip into his chest and back. There should’ve been restraint and thought and consideration put into the moment she secured his gun. In reality, there was anything but.

Courtney learned how to shoot not so she could plug more assholes with bullets. She did it so she’d never again cross the line and excessively kill another human being because she feared for herself and her friends.

The inmate’s death hit her differently. This guy wasn’t a stalker with impaired mental faculties. He was a stone-cold killer that tried to murder her with a sharpened bit of chain-link fencing, wrapped in duct tape. She didn’t know his motivations yet. Courtney wasn’t sure if she needed to, to be able to pass judgment on him. There were few good reasons to participate in the conspired killing of another inmate and his visitor.

There was less regret in her heart. No lead weight settled into her stomach at the knowledge she took his life with that shiv Shayne gave her. Maybe she could’ve stabbed him in the gut, or the side, but that wouldn’t have stopped him. The guy was bigger and stronger. He could’ve just overpowered her and used her own weapon against her after she knocked his away. Shayne would’ve had to endanger himself even more to save her.

Her heart ached at the thought of Shayne. Seeing him with that Cartel guy on the ground flipped a switch in her head. Watching him get stabbed so viciously in the leg – fuck, she couldn’t stand there and do nothing. She didn’t give a shit that the Irish guy had her pinned by the neck. She needed to help him. There was no thinking twice about it.

It was the same way there was no thinking twice about jumping on Mike.

Courtney was afraid when she realized they were being set up for an ambush. She was afraid when that guy came at her with a shiv. She was afraid when he pinned her to a wall. She was terrified when she realized she signed his death sentence with a sharpened toothbrush to the throat. She was just about ready to pass out when Mike withstood multiple stabs and proceeded to grapple her into a headlock.

None of that fear compared to the horror that spread like ice in her veins seeing Shayne’s limp body being beaten down.

Courtney wasn’t sure what it said about her morality and her value for human life when she jammed that shiv into Mike’s neck with no restraint. No holding back. No split-second thought to stab him somewhere that wouldn’t kill him. Courtney knew she wanted Mike dead the moment she mounted his back. She knew it was the only way to save Shayne, and she didn’t care.

It wasn’t like with her stalker, whereas, looking back, she would’ve preferred if they both lived. She would’ve preferred if her baser instincts hadn’t seized her and jerked the trigger back eight times.

Courtney was glad the biker was in the dirt. If she had to relive the experience, there was only one thing she would’ve changed. She would’ve tugged that goddamn shiv across his neck and cut him ear to ear. She would’ve finished the job, to spare Shayne’s broken body the difficulty of doing so.

Just when Courtney felt that watching Shayne’s possible demise was the most horrified she’d ever been – a new demon sprouted to take its place.

It was the knowledge she was so willing to take a life in that moment. The fact that it didn’t bother her was precisely what bothered her the most.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! Thanks for sticking around to the end of this one. This was another tough one for me. Since I (obviously) have never taken a life before, I had to do a lot of soul searching and poking around to find out what people feel in the aftermath. I found that a lot of people experience remorse over a lack of remorse. The prospect of the lack of guilt is what keeps a lot of people up at night, especially if the case was self defense or for survival or whatnot. I hope you all enjoyed poking around Courtney's mind with me. Next chapter's in the works, and we'll get our two knuckleheads reunited soon enough :)


	13. Corner Office with a View

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leak and Grossman get an unexpected visitor. Courtney visits Matt at the 15th. Shayne limps his way to recovery.

The waiting area of Leak and Grossman’s rustic office was sparsely packed at this hour early in the morning. Noah sat on Olivia’s reception desk, wearing a frown as he knotted his blue tie into place. Keith sat on the chair next to him, reviewing the witnesses Reyes was calling to the stand later in the day. Olivia came walking in from the pantry with a tray bearing four cups of fresh coffee. Courtney sat with crossed legs on the chair opposite Keith. Max lied down at her feet, lazily chewing on his tennis ball.

Courtney figured she would touch base with Leak and Grossman before heading over to the precinct. As she expected, she woke up far earlier than she should have. Courtney’s dreams were plagued by murderous Irishmen and gargantuan bikers beating Shayne into the dirt. Courtney hadn’t originally intended for Max to share her bed with her. He had his own after all. But when she woke up thrashing, he was quick to hop up and lap at her face as he whimpered in concern. Courtney was able to get an hour or two of dreamless sleep with Max’s calming presence by her side.

After slapping a pound of concealer onto her face to mask the bruises, she drove over to Leak and Grossman’s office. Courtney caught them as they idly went through their morning before heading over to the courthouse. The next trial session wasn’t for a few more hours, so they were going over their preparations. Thankfully, they didn’t fuss over the heavy makeup she was using to cover up the damage from yesterday’s fight. The trio instead turned their attention to her new companion. They were delighted to meet Max, and the Pitbull was more than happy to get the attention. Courtney assumed Max didn’t make for a very good fighting dog at the rings, considering how much of a softie he was.

“The witnesses ain’t much today,” Keith noted before receiving his mug of coffee with a grateful nod of his head. “Got a couple here I can take on. I’m seein’ some irregularities in the testimonies.”

“You think they’re paid off to testify?” Olivia asked as she handed out more mugs.

“Mhm, it’s possible,” Keith hummed, and added, “Noah can handle the others. The testimonies look weak. I’m bettin’ they were some suggestible dudes who didn’t see Shayne clearly at the scene. Y’know, the kinda type that’ll shrug and nod when the cops offer an image of what the suspect looked like.”

“That’s good for us, right?” Courtney asked.

After a moment more of staring at the files with calm, unimpressed eyes, Keith snorted and nodded, “These guys ain’t shit. Easy day in court for us.”

“Yeah, big surprise there,” Noah muttered as he straightened out his tie, “You don’t put a hit on the opposition unless you’re getting desperate.”

Olivia leaned against her desk, holding her mug with both hands. She wore an angry expression on her features, “God, if I could get my hands on that witch.”

Courtney looked out the window for a moment, taking in the morning sun’s warm glow. She remembered Shayne’s words in the hospital all those weeks ago.

“Gotta fight her clean. She’s been fighting dirty for so long; we’ve got the upper hand when we fight her with the law and the press.”

“If we live long enough,” Noah said with a frustrated huff, “If she’s got connections to Rikers, she’s got them on the outside too.”

“I dug this up last night,” Olivia tugged a bottle of pepper spray free from her purse, “Haven’t packed this in a while.”

“Gotta get me one of those,” Keith eyed the bottle.

“Any punk comes at me, they’re getting a face full of mace.” Olivia sprayed the aerosol into the air for emphasis.

The potent spray filled the space, and its powerful effects immediately made themselves known.

“Liv, what the fuck!” Courtney shielded her eyes and put a protective hand over her mug of coffee. Courtney crossed to the other side of the room as she felt her airways tighten and her eyes water. Max gave a displeased snort and hurried over to Courtney’s corner, tennis ball still in his mouth.

Keith, Noah, and Olivia similarly began to cough and sniffle as they rushed off to different corners of the waiting room. They scrubbed at their eyes as they hacked away.

“Oh God, that’s strong,” Noah let out between coughs.

“That was – that was barely a little spritz into the air!” Olivia protested between coughs; head pressed into the drywall and puffy eyes shut.

Keith, who apparently was the first to hold his breath, began laughing at their expense, and the stupidity of it all. They were quick to join in the laughter in between their coughs.

A knocking on the front door caught their attention and cut through their amusement. With red, puffy eyes, they exchanged tense looks. Max let out a cautious growl. They weren’t expecting anyone, let alone at this hour. Leak and Grossman had mostly shuttered their services to focus on the trial. They were doing light consultation work at most, and that was falling on Olivia’s lap for the most part.

Courtney rubbed the back of her hand against her eyes to try and alleviate the irritation before she got to business. She extracted the .380 from her bag and set the coffee down on a filing cabinet. She pressed her back flat to the wall and nodded at Noah, who stood closest to the door. Noah gulped, coughed again from the mace, and then nodded back.

Noah cleared his throat and rubbed at his teary eyes. With a glance to ensure Courtney was ready for the worst, Noah opened the door. Their visitor was an older man with hard features and short grey hair, a briefcase in hand. He wore a dark button down and pressed slacks. His back was as straight as a board, and he carried himself with a certain presence that commanded respect. Courtney immediately recognized him as Shayne’s old commanding officer, Colonel Ray Schoonover.

Courtney stowed the gun back in her purse before he noticed it. Schoonover gave Noah a polite, terse smile.

“Good morning. This is Leak and Grossman’s office, yes?”

“Uh – yes,” Noah cleared his throat, blinking his sore eyes, “We’re not accepting walk-in clients at this time as we prepare for our trial. If you could give us your number, Mister…”

“Oh, I’m not here to consult,” Schoonover shook his head, “I’m Ray Schoonover, Shayne Topp’s character witness.”

Recognition flashed across Noah’s pink face. He held back another cough as he stepped aside to let the man in, “Colonel, please, come in.”

Schoonover entered their little waiting room. His face scrunched up slightly in discomfort, and there was a soft grumble in the back of his throat.

“Is there… something in the air?”

Noah turned his damp eyes over to Olivia’s equally red ones. Olivia looked at Keith, who was the most composed among them.

Keith cleared his throat, “Not that we know of, colonel. But where are my manners?” He laughed and took a sharp change of topic.

“I’m Keith Leak Jr.,” Keith extended his right hand, only to very quickly realize his mistake. Schoonover had a prosthetic right hand. Keith adjusted, reaching out with his left hand to shake Schoonover’s own left. Keith soldiered on despite the blunder, “This is my partner Noah Grossman,” He motioned towards Noah, then towards Olivia, “And our associate and partner-to-be, Olivia Sui.”

Lastly, Keith motioned to Courtney, who was also blinking back the uncomfortable dampness in her eyes. “This is also our associate, Courtney Miller.”

Her paralegal cover wasn’t as convincing today since she hadn’t planned on staying long. Keith, Noah, and Olivia were dressed as sharply as ever, while she was sporting jeans and a beanie. Not exactly the professional look of a legal assistant. The colonel’s cool eyes appeared to study Courtney’s face for a moment. He was undoubtedly wondering what a girl like her was doing sporting bruises like that. Just as quickly as his eyes had analyzed her, they turned to the rest of the room’s occupants.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you all,” The colonel allowed his steady gaze to settle on each of them as he spoke. Olivia and Courtney were forced to peel away from their respective corners in the office. It was a good thing the pepper spray was beginning to dissipate.

“What brings you to our office, colonel?” Noah asked as he gestured for the colonel to take a seat. Schoonover sat down by the reception desk, smiling at Max when he came to curiously sniff at his boots.

“I wanted to express my gratitude for the help you’re giving Shayne.” Schoonover raised the briefcase up as he spoke. It was a sleek, sexy looking thing, with dark black leather and polished buckles.

“Just a little token of appreciation,” Schoonover smiled, “For either one of you two brilliant defense attorneys.”

Keith and Noah exchanged flattered smiles before turning back to the colonel. Keith accepted the briefcase with a beam.

“Now, don’t get your hopes up. There’s no money in there if that’s what you’re thinking.” Schoonover chuckled.

Noah raised his hand to shoot the thought down, “Not at all, colonel. It’s a good lookin’ briefcase.”

Schoonover’s expression took a serious shift as he spoke, “I had a few questions about the trial.”

“We’d be happy to answer, ‘em, colonel,” Keith set the briefcase down on Olivia’s desk.

“I heard your opening statement, Mr. Leak,” He gave an admiring nod, “It was a damn good one.”

Keith gave a light laugh and turned his head away for a second as he waved the compliment off, “I’m glad you thought so, colonel.”

“You talked about Shayne’s family. I wanted to know what you’ve pieced together so far.”

Keith and Noah were silent at that. The tale of the Topp family’s massacre was plastered all over the internet after Courtney’s article went up. The general public knew the story now, but there were still details they’d been keeping to themselves. Just the same, it was more of Courtney’s area of expertise than Leak and Grossman’s.

Noah motioned to Courtney as he addressed the colonel, “Ms. Miller does the most talking with Mr. Topp.”

Schoonover turned his calm, calculating gaze to Courtney. She offered him a sad smile, “It was a tragedy.”

He nodded solemnly, “It was. The weeks after it happened were all a blur. We lost contact with Shayne and his family like they disappeared into thin air. When we tried filing missing person reports, we were told about the drive-by shooting. The police said Shayne was the only survivor, and he was in intensive care so he couldn’t take visitors.”

Schoonover looked away from Courtney, the ghost of an angry sneer on his neutral face, “It all smelled like bull.”

“Have you read Karen Page’s article, colonel?” Courtney still found it strange referring to her pseudonym.

“I have. I imagine Ms. Page must have been in contact with your firm if she was able to speak to Shayne.”

Courtney lied through her teeth with a friendly smile, “We’ve been in touch.”

Schoonover’s steely eyes studied Courtney for a second. A slight chill ran down her spine as his eyes bore right through her.

“My wife and I never were able to have children,” The colonel turned his forlorn gaze away to look out their window, “I was too busy in the Marines. I didn’t want her to raise a child on her own. By the time I was discharged, well – it was already too late for us.”

Schoonover paused, as if chewing his words over, “Shayne Topp was the closest thing to a son I ever got. He and Nicole were family. Lizzy was like the granddaughter I never had. When I heard of what happened,” The corner of his eye gave a faint twitch, “It was like my own flesh and blood had been killed.”

Courtney bit her lip as she watched the colonel speak. He wore his mask as well as Shayne did. Shayne’s mask was vicious, scowling and snarling to hide the endless, echoing loneliness in his heart. Schoonover’s was the perfect poker face, concealing the turmoil that boiled within him over what happened. Courtney hadn’t realized up until now how close Schoonover and Shayne must have been.

“It’s the worst kind of death, Ms. Miller,” Schoonover continued, “Senseless death. They didn’t die for duty or for country. They died for being at the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Courtney gulped as Schoonover lapsed into silence, appearing lost in his thoughts. She steered the conversation back to his original question.

“We’re still trying to establish motive and make sense of it all. We, uh – we’re not sure yet why the gangs opened fire.”

Schoonover scoffed, “Twitchy drug dealers with twitchy trigger fingers.”

Courtney’s mind zeroed in on the colonel’s words.

“Drug dealers?” Courtney asked. A frown quickly marred her brow, “What makes you say that?”

Schoonover paused for a beat before his frown matched her own, and he shrugged one shoulder, “The Mexican Cartel was involved. It’s no secret they’re into the drug business. I just assumed the others were as well.”

It made sense. This was a thread worth pulling. She could raise this with Matt in the precinct later. If drugs were involved in the massacre, that would imply it was some kind of deal gone south. It lent a new angle to the John Doe as well. Was he a middleman? Or was he just another innocent caught in the crossfire like the Topp family?

The colonel’s eyes meaningfully looked at Courtney as he asked, “Has Ms. Page been investigating the possibility of drug involvement?”

Courtney kept her best poker face on as she answered, “I’m not sure. I’ll pass it along to make sure she looks into it.”

After a second, Schoonover gave her a small smile, “I appreciate everything your firm and Ms. Page are doing for Shayne, ma’am.”

“That’s what we at Leak and Grossman are all about, colonel.”

With a far too knowing look at Courtney, he added, “Please give Ms. Page my regards.”

Olivia spoke up to break the slight tension in the air, “Colonel, if you don’t mind, we’d like to go over the testimony you’ll be giving.”

Schoonover gave a polite smile, “Can do, ma’am.”

* * *

Schoonover’s words were still buzzing in Courtney’s mind by the time she reached the precinct. It nagged at her like an incessant fly circling overhead. She didn’t quite know what to make of the man. The colonel carried an enigmatic air around him, and it didn’t help that he all but deduced she was Karen Page within five minutes of talking to her.

But Shayne trusted Schoonover. He wouldn’t have called him on as a character witness if he didn’t. Courtney could trust his judgment. Besides, the colonel opened up a new avenue of thought, a fresh angle to view the cause of the massacre.

Courtney parked her car and locked it with a chirp. Max walked by her side, tethered by his leash. He gave out steady contented pants as he trotted along.

She stopped at the front desk to check her .380 in, only to find a familiar face. It was Officer Martin from the hospital, now in his regular uniform. The tall, dark man pushed his glasses back and gave her a warm smile. His eyes settled over the concealed bruise on her face, before snapping back to her eyes.

“Good morning. It’s Ms. Miller, right? With Leak and Grossman?” He stood to greet her, hand extended.

Courtney returned the pleasant smile, giving him a firm handshake, “Yup. Morning, Officer Martin.”

She held her pistol by the barrel and placed it on the table in front of him. Officer Martin dutifully tagged it and gave her a plastic card to claim it later. “How’s Topp’s case going?”

“We’re hard at work fighting back the prosecution,” Courtney could proudly say, “At the moment, we’re cautiously optimistic.”

Officer Martin beamed at that, “I’m real glad to hear, Ms. Miller.” Max caught the officer’s attention just then, and he gave Courtney a questioning look. Max simply watched them with curious eyes, head turning back and forth between the two. Courtney belatedly realized that most people don’t casually walk their dog into police stations.

“He’s – uh, my emotional support dog?”

Officer Martin laughed and waved her off, “Tell you what – if he behaves, I ain’t got any problem with him.”

“Well, we’re in luck, officer. Max is the good-est boy,” Courtney scratched the dog’s head fondly.

“Mhm,” He hummed, “It does look like it. You have a good one now.”

“You too,” Courtney replied with a nod and turned to observe the station. The precinct was buzzing with activity. Officers walked to and fro, carrying envelopes or boxes around. Others discussed matters with concerned citizens. Courtney easily spotted Matt’s tall figure towering above the rest. She strode across the busy space, catching Matt’s attention.

He turned to offer her a smile in greeting. His smile widened at the sight of the dog by her side.

“Hey, Courtney,” Matt bent down to scratch at Max’s happy head, “I see you found Topp’s rescue dog.”

“Took way longer than expected but,” Courtney shrugged, returning his smile, “Mission accomplished.”

Matt finished up petting the dog and straightened up to face Courtney. Max got on his hindlegs to beg for more pats. “What brings you to the 15th?”

Courtney gave a quick look to their surroundings, which had many officers and civilians within earshot. “Could we talk somewhere in private?”

Matt appeared to catch her meaning, so he motioned for her to follow him. He led Courtney out of the central bullpen and down one hall leading to the inner portion of the precinct and its back offices.

Once the coast was clear, he leaned back on the wall opposite her and crossed his arms expectantly.

“I won’t give you cigars for your mom,” Courtney cracked a smile to lighten the air.

Matt chuckled softly and nodded, “Okay. I’m listening.”

“I wanna take a look at the carousel shootout files,” Courtney spoke quickly when she saw Matt’s troubled expression, “Look, I know there’s stuff you can and can’t show me, I respect that. I got my Smosh press pass here.”

Courtney fished the simple ID from her bag to show Matt, “Whatever you got that’s not classified – reports, pictures, death certificates. I’d really appreciate it, Matt.”

Matt looked at the press pass for a moment then sighed. With a wave of his hand, he led her further down the hall. “You can take a look at the digital copies. It’s gonna take a bit of paperwork to pull up the physical stuff, but it’s all been catalogued and transcribed, anyway.”

The detective opened the door to his small, almost closet-like office. A desk was flushed against one wall, with a computer and a stack of papers atop it. A few filing cabinets lined the walls, and the blinds to the window were pulled low. A large chalkboard adorned one wall, inscribed with numerous hasty notes that probably only Matt could understand.

Courtney turned her frown to Matt, “This is your promotion desk? Isn’t it roomier back in the bullpen?”

Matt shrugged as he stepped past her to get his computer off of standby, “Apparently reaching detective sergeant doesn’t get you a corner office with a view.”

He slid the office chair out for Courtney to take as he added, “Maybe if you’re assigned to one of the swankier stations in Manhattan, but not in the good ol’ 15th.”

Courtney watched patiently as Matt leaned over to pull up the relevant reports. Max rested his chin on Courtney’s lap as she waited.

“So, we not going to discuss the fact you’re wearing more makeup than a killer clown?” Matt asked as the system loaded. He shot her a side eye, “What’s with the bruises and the cuts, Court?”

The flash of red emergency lights blinked into Courtney’s vision, and she had to gulp down the panic that threatened to jump at her.

Instead, Courtney dropped one of Shayne’s one-liners. “I was gonna say you should see the other guy, but you might lose your lunch.”

Matt’s face scrunched up in befuddlement as he turned to fully look at her, “What the fuck does that mean?”

Courtney waved her hand in dismissal, “We got jumped by some inmates in visitation.”

“In Rikers?” Matt’s brows reached his hairline, “Are… are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Matt.” Courtney let out an exasperated sigh.

“Why is this the first I’m hearing of this? Riots make the news, especially if an outsider gets caught up in it.”

“Someone wants to keep it quiet, I guess.” Courtney kept the bite back in her voice at the thought of Reyes.

Matt seemed to sense that that was the end of that, so he returned his attention to the computer. After a few more minutes of clicking and clacking, and scratching Max’s head, the files were ready.

“Okay. You know the deal. Run by me any copies you intend to make and take with you. Don’t go snooping around in any other files, because I’ll know. I’ll be back in a bit,” Matt paused at the door, “Got some stuff to take care of.”

“Thanks, Matt.”

Courtney got to work. The digital reports weren’t the neatest she’d seen, but they’d do. Three gangs, totaling to twenty-something individuals, opened fire on each other with automatic weaponry. Firearms of different calibers were recovered from the scene. All suspects confirmed dead on the spot, with no survivors. It matched up with the news story that Smosh ran on the shootout at the time, months ago.

Courtney sifted through the files, Schoonover’s assumption in mind. In the reports she’d dug through thus far, there wasn’t a single mention of drugs. Instead, the reports went into gruesome detail of how the gang members were torn up by each other’s overwhelming firepower. There was no established motive, no rhyme or reason to the senseless violence.

But Courtney was like a dog with a bone now that the new angle was ingrained into her mind. She scribbled onto her notepad as she looked back and forth at the monitor. Courtney planned to take some copies of the crime scene photos she’d yet to sift through. Her notes on the reports would suffice. So far, they were more of the same, and didn’t tell them anything they didn’t already know.

The reports didn’t mention the John Doe, either; it was to be expected. Courtney figured she might’ve come across his identity in the death certificates, but so far, she was just pulling up numerous gang members.

She leaned back into her chair with a sigh, idly rubbing at Max’s head. The dog looked ready to doze off with his head on her lap. Courtney smiled at the sweet overgrown pup before getting back to it. She tabbed through the numerous photos.

Bodies were strewn across the bright green grass, shot to pieces by high caliber firepower. Cartel, Irish, bikers, they all bled red and lied limp at the end of the day. The carousel was splattered with a gruesome crimson. Weapons were documented at the scene. Courtney recognized numerous rifles, submachineguns, machine pistols – these guys were packing serious heat. They wouldn’t have been carrying serious firepower like that if they weren’t expecting to use them. It only added fuel to the suspicion that the gangs were ready for shit to hit the fan. A drug deal gone wrong made the most sense, but where were the damn drugs?

Courtney idly thought of how she was glad she forewent breakfast. She would’ve gotten nauseous looking at the bloody photos. Courtney had seen more dead bodies up close and in pictures to last her a lifetime.

Courtney wasn’t sure how much time passed when she found her first big break in today’s investigation. She tabbed a few pictures back to study one scene. A few officers stood over two bodies. Bright yellow evidence markers littered the ground, tagging the bodies and the weapons lying next to them. Courtney tabbed forward to several pictures later. It was a slightly different angle, but undoubtedly the same spot. One body had been removed, along with the gun lying next to him. The evidence tags for the body and weapon were absent as well.

It was possible that the man had already been bagged up for autopsy. Courtney switched back over to the death certificates and sifted through them. Matt slipped back into the room after some time. He remained silent, noticing how deep in the zone she was. Courtney ignored the smell of coffee in the air in favor of focusing on the documents. Before long, Courtney could confirm that they were short one death certificate, no doubt belonging to the missing body.

Courtney relayed the information to Matt, whose frown grew the longer she spoke.

“They’re covering this guy’s death up, along with the Topp family, Matt.” Courtney paused, and decided to loop Matt in on the new theory inspired by the colonel, “I think this might’ve been some kind of drug deal gone wrong. The missing John Doe is part of it somehow, and someone up top is trying to bury it all.”

“Hold on – drug deal? There weren’t any recovered in the scene.”

“Could you check into physical evidence? Maybe there’s something the transcribers missed.”

Matt sighed, appearing to mull it over, “Nobody likes typing in the digital data. It’s not out of the realm of possibility that someone missed something.”

Courtney gave Matt her best puppy dog eyes. To double down, she lowered her face to Max, who turned his own face to look up at Matt pleadingly.

Matt laughed and waved them off, “I’m gonna have to climb through some red tape to get my hands on the physical stuff. I sure as hell can’t give you free reign over them, so you’ll need to give me some time.”

Courtney flashed him an appreciative grin, “Thanks, Matt. It means a lot.”

“Don’t thank me yet. No idea what shape the physical evidence and files are going to be in,” The detective paused, a thoughtful look on his face, “I’ll probably enlist Officer Martin again. He could give me a hand.”

“Ah. One of the Topp fan club members.”

Matt snorted, “Yeah, we got more of those now ever since that Smosh article went up,” Matt leaned in, tilting his head knowingly, “Isn’t that right, Karen Page?”

Courtney gave him a displeased look, “You better not be telling anybody.”

“Nah. Your secret identity is safe with me. But it’s not a hard deduction to make, Court. If people look into who Leak and Grossman’s second paralegal is and find out you work with Smosh – well, just gotta connect the dots.”

“I guess,” Courtney grumbled. She knew the pseudonym wouldn’t hold for long, especially under direct scrutiny. It’s not like she adopted a false name when she sat in with the avocados-at-law. Anyone that pulled the thread would find that it ran back to Smosh. It was enough to keep the general public guessing for the most part. Courtney was just glad that there was enough journalistic integrity going around that other outlets weren’t outing her as Karen Page if they figured it out. The secrecy wasn’t as critical as it was back when Shayne was in the hospital. But if her cover was blown wide, she wouldn’t be able to sit in court with the team. She also might have a harder time seeing Shayne in Rikers as a visitor, rather than as a legal consultant.

Matt gave her a rough pat on the shoulder, “Now c’mon. Let’s wrap it up.”

* * *

Shayne’s one week stay in the infirmary was a grueling one. Rikers apparently had a shortage of painkillers. He had to contend with the throbbing ache in his arm and leg, and the sharp pain on his back and along his chest. There were few upsides to the misery of his painful stay. The lack of any medicine to dull his senses meant that he was awake and alert for the most part. The other was that the pain kept him up at night. By the time he fell asleep, he was too tired to fully sink into his nightmares.

But when the nightmares finally came when he was first discharged – Jesus Christ did they hit him hard.

It was horrible waking up with his family’s names in his mouth, their shredded bodies in his eyes. Shayne learned it was about just as bad to wake with Courtney’s name on his lips, her snapped neck burned into his vision. So far, he’d only experienced the latter dream twice. He wasn’t eager to repeat it.

Pope and Eli, August’s men, had been with him throughout the week. Occasionally, another man would substitute for one of them, presumably while they attended their work shift. Shayne never really got to know those other guys. Throughout his stay in the infirmary, they stood guard outside the quiet room. Once Shayne was returned to his cellblock in a crutch and a sling, he learned that Pope and Eli were transferred to his block. They occupied the cells on either side of his own, so they could reach him quickly if a fight broke out.

Shayne appreciated that they weren’t talkers. He really had nothing to say, and it appeared fine by them. _The Count of Monte Cristo_ kept him company instead in the time he spent recovering. In the mess hall, they sat with him in silence, eating their goopy margarine-laced meals as their vigilant eyes scanned the busy room. News of the visitation hall’s grisly massacre spread quickly. Many inmates were considerably wealthier in contraband and credits after Shayne and Courtney survived the attack. Those that lost their bets on his life got the message loud and clear: The Punisher doesn’t go down easy.

There had been one attempt on his life so far by some other biker shitbag. His two guardians made short work of the man, restraining him before he could lunge at Shayne. He’d been prepared to catch the shiv with the cloth of his sling, but that proved unnecessary. Pope and Eli shanked the biker to death with his own shiv. They escorted Shayne down the halls before anyone could throw them in the hole for the killing.

The week and a half that passed since the incident had been a deafeningly quiet one. Bell’s absence was so apparent and blatant that it hurt. Shayne never thought of how much he’d come to rely on Bell’s chatter for simple socialization, even if he glared at Bell half the time. The old CO didn’t just escort Shayne to and from solitary or visitation. He usually chatted Shayne up on the way to the mess hall, or his work detail in laundry.

Bell rarely said anything of substance those times. He’d fill Shayne in on prison gossip that Shayne halfheartedly listened to. Shayne didn’t care to know who was becoming whose prison bitch. He _did_ care to know if some punk or another was making a power play to take over one of the gangs. Other times, Bell asked him about _blondie_ or the trial. Depending on his mood, he’d oblige, and try not to find amusement in how invested Bell appeared to be in his and _blondie’s_ relationship.

It was almost like a fucking soap opera to Bell. If he were still around, Shayne wouldn’t have minded entertaining the man with a story or two. Maybe about how she found Max at the shelter. Or about how she brightened his day with his favorite brand of yogurt.

Shayne would put Warden Gates, and COs Johnson and Lee in the dirt for what they did to Bell. He didn’t know how, just yet. All he knew was that he would.

For now, Shayne focused on recovering and trying to stay out of trouble. He made less eye contact with the other inmates. He toned down the scowl to reduce the chances of provoking some asshole. Shayne wanted Bell’s sacrifice to mean something.

By the time the first week and a half had passed since the visitation incident, Harris appeared at his cell door. Shayne lowered _The Count of Monte Cristo_ to his lap and sat up with a slightly uncomfortable grunt. He could see Pope and Eli leaning against either side of the door, watching the man warily.

Harris raised a pair of shackles and cuffs and simply said, “Consultation.”

Shayne frowned as he grabbed the crutch leaning against his wall. He got to his feet and exited the cell door as Harris stepped aside to allow him to pass. Harris’ expression was a neutral, if not tired one. He’d never spoken much to Harris during his stay so far in Rikers. Bell trusted him, so Shayne knew he could trust him as well.

“These two can follow but they’re not allowed in consultation. Legal privacy and all that.”

Shayne looked at the two men, who wordlessly nodded. They fell in step with Shayne once his restraints were in place.

The heavy silence that lingered in the air as they walked was punctured only by the rattling of Shayne’s chains. He looked ridiculous with shackled legs and cuffed arms, one in a sling, and a crutch tucked under the other arm. He missed Bell’s stupid gossiping voice in his ears. He would’ve laughed at Shayne’s sorry state before loosening either of the restraints to make it easier on him.

Leak and Grossman had been keeping in touch, as promised. They called him every so often to update him on the trial. Keith and Noah were dismantling witness after witness, discrediting them and proving them unreliable in court. According to them, it wouldn’t be long now before Reyes ran out of ammo, and it would be time for them to roll in their expert witnesses. Shayne was proud of them. He couldn’t have asked for a better defense team.

It was strange then to be summoned to consultation like this, and the anxiety was beginning to bubble up now. It was pretty clear the last time they spoke that they’d avoid face-to-face meetings until it was time for Shayne to return to court. They were all in agreement that this was the safest course of action for the time being. If they were suddenly showing up for a surprise meeting, they must have a good reason.

Or, this was Courtney’s doing.

There had been radio silence on Courtney’s part the past week. As much as he longed to hear her voice to grant him a moment of peace, he knew it was for the best. The more space between them, the better. She’d nearly gotten killed because of him. He was done taking chances and risks. If keeping her far away from the shit-stained rainbow he was riding meant keeping her safe, then he’d do it. Even if she was the only thing that could bring silence to his turbulent mind.

When Harris brought their little group to a stop in front of consultation, Shayne’s heart skipped a beat.

Courtney sat behind the steel table, dressed in a fine skirt, a blue blouse, and a sleek dark blazer.

The red glow of the emergency lights was fresh in his mind. Even as he looked at her while Harris got his restraints, he could see Mike’s burly arm wrapped around her neck.

The anger built up in his chest, and he could feel the glower twisting his face. He avoided Courtney’s eyes up until Harris chained his hands to the table and exited out the door with a buzz. He took to glaring at his restrained hands, unwilling to look the woman in the eye.

She was in danger as long as she was here. She needed to leave. Even if he had to be a dick to get her to do so.

“What are you doing here?”

Shayne didn’t miss the way her face fell in his periphery.

Courtney shifted before giving a slight shrug, “I wanted to see how you were doing. I figured one week, and a couple days would be enough time to get you mobile.”

“Yeah, now you saw me. Now go.” His hardened eyes remained fixed on his hands.

“Shayne, don’t you _fucking_ start with me right now,” Courtney leaned forward, voice low but sharp as a knife, “I swear to God I will smack the shit out of your crippled ass if you keep playing this act.”

He gulped, but tried to remain steadfast, “There’s no goddamn act, ma’am. Get out of here. It’s not safe.”

“Bullshit there’s no act, Shayne.” Her chair creaked as she shifted even closer.

“You gotta walk out of here, Court.” Shayne shook his head, “You’re not getting hurt again because of me. Get out of Rikers, don’t come back.”

Shayne listened to the deep breath Courtney took. His resolve began to crack when she slid her hands across the table to grab hold of his good hand.

“Shayne, look me in the eyes and tell me that’s what you want.” Courtney audibly gulped, “You don’t get to have a damn hole stabbed into your arm, and your face beat into the ground just to,” She scoffed, “Just to push me away.”

Shayne knew looking at her would be the death of him. Those soulful green eyes were all it would take to shatter his resolve completely.

“I know you want to keep me safe, and I appreciate it – I do,” Courtney’s thumbs rubbed their familiar patterns against his hands, “But this isn’t the way. I can take care of myself. At least _one of us_ needs to give a shit about _your_ safety. We both know that isn’t gonna be you.”

Courtney used his own tricks against him. She held his chin with one hand to tilt his face up. She ducked her head to meet his eyes, as her pleading voice let out, “Shayne.”

Shayne’s mask cracked like glass.

His frown vanished, giving way to the melancholy that lingered ever-present in his bones. Shayne turned his good hand over to grip her hand back. He lowered his eyes again, this time out of shame.

“I’m sorry, Court.”

“Don’t be a dick, Shayne,” Courtney squeezed his hand as she lowered her head once more to catch his eyes, “We’re fine now. Reyes isn’t going to try anything so bold anytime soon after this blew up in her face.”

Shayne finally conceded with a nod of his head, “Okay.”

He studied her face for the first time since the bloody brawl. The bruises on her face appeared to be healing nicely, if the little makeup she wore was any indicator. The small cuts on her face had thoroughly scabbed over and would be nothing but faint memories soon enough.

“How are you?”

Courtney rolled her eyes at the question but wore a fond smile. She withdrew her hands, letting them settle in front of her. “Could ask you the same thing, y’know? But I’m doing better. What little scrapes I got are healing nicely.”

She paused then, like she was seriously considering her next few words, “The nightmares have been awful.” It was her turn to look down at her hands instead of at his face, “But they’ll go away eventually. I’ll manage.”

If Shayne could banish her nightmares in the same way she did for him, he would. But Shayne figured he didn’t have that sort of sway. He settled for fixing her with a sympathetic frown as he said, “I know how that feels.”

Courtney gave him an appreciative smile as she asked, “How do you deal with them nowadays?”

The little images in Shayne’s mind were as clear as they’d always been. They were together in her apartment. Courtney sat on one end of the sofa and held her laptop. Her legs were stretched out to settle on his lap. She wore a thoughtful frown on her face as she tossed ideas to him. Shayne fixed his contemplative gaze ahead. In one hand, he swirled the half-empty bottle of beer around in consideration. His other hand rested by her ankles, rubbing her smooth skin with his thumb.

Shayne cleared his throat and shook his head to clear the peaceful thought, “You, uh – you find something you care about to hold onto, I guess.”

He risked a glance at Courtney and found her bright eyes watching him intently. Shayne licked his dry lips as he added, “Something that keeps you grounded.”

“You found something to do that for you?”

Shayne found himself looking back at Courtney. There was the slightest tilt of her head as she observed him. He willed his flighty eyes to stay put as they met her own. He tried not to be so painfully aware of how much he missed seeing her gorgeous face up close. With a dry throat, Shayne admitted, “Yeah. I think so.”

He couldn’t be sure if Courtney caught his meaning. She smiled at him either way. Shayne watched her tongue flit out to lick her lips before she changed the course of their conversation, “How’s the arm?”

Shayne leaned back, shrugging his bad arm, “Hurts like a bitch, but it’s healing. The stitches in my back are due to be removed in a few days, so hopefully I can stop sleeping on my side.”

“And the leg?”

“I’ll be tossing this crutch away soon enough.”

“That’s good,” Courtney smiled before her tone took a serious shift, “Anyone giving you trouble?”

The darkness that hung over him from Bell’s murder came back up to the surface. He hung his head as the raincloud formed above.

“I made a couple friends,” Shayne started. He wasn’t keen on discussing the extent of Bell’s sacrifice today, “Some guys made a lot of money betting that we’d survive the ambush. I got gang protection for a few weeks.”

Courtney’s brows raised up in a mixture of delight and surprise, “For real?”

“Yeah, apparently the guys that run contraband ramen also provide muscle when needed.”

She let out a soft laugh at that and gave him an approving nod. Courtney cleared her throat and got down to business. She told him of Schoonover’s visit to Leak and Grossman’s office, and her subsequent trip to the precinct. Shayne perked up at that. He hadn’t seen his old commanding officer since before the massacre. When Shayne began punishing, he was sure to leave Schoonover out of his violent crusade, just as he did with Damien after he was healed up

At the sight of the photos Courtney had on her cracked phone, Shayne muttered that nobody of note stood out, and that the missing body of the John Doe didn’t look familiar to him. Courtney was still waiting on Raub from the 15th to get back to her on the physical evidence. He agreed that the drug deal angle made sense and was worth pursuing.

Shayne paused her at one point to ask a question that had been bugging him for the past month or so, “Court, you know your screen is busted, right?”

Courtney gave him a displeased look, “Yeah, Shayne, I kinda noticed.”

He gave her an uncertain shrug, “What’s with that?”

“Some blonde asshole with a shotgun chased me down a stairwell. Then an Irish asshole tripped me, and my screen broke in the fall.”

Shayne felt the heat rise to his cheeks as he looked away, “Shit. My bad, Court.”

His expression was apparently funny to Courtney, because she began giggling at him, “Yeah, and since Grotto’s gone, _you_ technically owe me for this!”

Shayne turned his embarrassed head back to face Courtney, “I dunno, Court. I make like twenty cents an hour at the laundromat. It might take a while to pay for that.”

She gave him a playful look, “I can wait.”

As their conversation went on, Shayne’s heart softened at the news that Max was now staying with her for good. He learned that her bosses Ian and Anthony were babysitting Max while she was here. Apparently, the dog loved Anthony but consistently snubbed Ian for reasons unknown.

Courtney went on to explain that her work for Smosh piled up, so she was stuck in the office for a bit. In her free time, she combed through the archives to see if there was anything she’d missed. So far, her search on that end wasn’t turning up any leads. She said their best bet was to wait on Matt’s follow up. In the meantime, she planned to drop by the New York Bulletin and see if she could get into their archives for missing person ads and obituaries.

Shayne watched her closely while listening to her speak. He missed her more than he cared to admit. It was a rough week made rougher by her absence. If giant bikers weren’t beating him into the ground, his nightmares were. A week ago, when Shayne vowed to keep her away to ensure her safety, he locked away those peaceful images with her into the back of his mind. The dreams only got worse because of it.

He realized one does not simply decide what is best for Courtney. He was stupid to even think he could.

Shayne decided to let go of that idea completely. For now, he’d enjoy the comfort she brought amidst his shitty life in Rikers. He’d sit by and watch as she, along with Leak and Grossman, dismantled Reyes and uncovered the truth. He’d let the peaceful vignettes back into his mind to beat back the haunting, ghastly images that plagued him in the night. He’d strongly advise against meeting her in consultation regularly for sure – but he wouldn’t try to stop her visits altogether.

Shayne was going to make Warden Gates and the other two COs pay, but that was a mission for another day. For now, he had good company that didn’t want to stab him in the neck. Company he at some point realized he’d do anything for to keep safe. He didn’t unpack those deep running, strong, unfamiliar emotions that grew from their companionship. Rikers wasn’t the place for that.

He decided for now, he’d just let it happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, folks! Let me know what you thought of this chapter! Olivia spritzing pepper spray into the air is probably one of my favorite dumb scenes to write so far. My friends did this in a small fast-food place once and got half the place coughing.
> 
> By my estimate, I do think we're a little past the halfway mark now. Things are gonna get spicy soon, so stay tuned!


	14. You and Me, Huh?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leak and Grossman defend Shayne as the trial of the century continues. Courtney and Matt make a discovery. Shayne looks to an uncertain future with varying levels of hope.

“The bullet penetrated Mr. Topp’s skull in the sphenofrontal suture here,” Dr. Grant spoke at the stand, aiming a laser pointer at the x-ray projection of Shayne’s skull.

Courtney sat in the dim courtroom, bruises and scrapes now finally healed as the days continued to fly by. Shayne sat to her right in a tan suit, shackles binding him to the table. The bruises and cuts from the beating he took had mostly subsided. His arm was now free from its sling, and he’d traded in his crutch for a cane. Shayne had told her it was better for swinging at people, but the need for it had yet to arise. To her left were Olivia and Noah, dressed to the nines as they always were. Keith stood not far from Dr. Grant, their expert witness, as he performed his direct examination.

They had spent the better part of the day going over Dr. Grant’s credentials, background, and past testimonies. The lawyers explained to Courtney that it was important to be exhaustive of that portion of the direct examination. It showed the jury and the prosecution that their expert had extensive experience and nothing to hide. It gave Reyes and Tower less ammo to use during the cross examination. Courtney took to scribbling down notes on the trial. As usual, she focused on the big picture, to be able to tell this story some point down the line. Olivia by her side was also taking notes, but hers were more technical. She occasionally leaned over to Noah to whisper in his ear as she gestured to her notepad.

While Dr. Grant’s background took up their morning, the early afternoon was spent discussing the concept of Extreme Emotional Disturbance. While their expert witnesses would not be allowed to opine directly if Shayne suffered from EED or not, they were allowed to testify for the steppingstones leading to EED. It took a while for Courtney to grasp the procedures they had to follow to keep the testimony not only valid but effective.

“Doctor, could you please describe to us the damage that Mr. Topp sustained from that bullet?” Keith asked as he took calm steps to stand by the side of the projector next to the jury’s well.

“The bullet shattered on impact, causing damage to the right frontal lobe and temporal lobe of his brain.” Dr. Grant’s collected voice responded. He glanced down at the outline Leak and Grossman provided to him in anticipation of the succeeding questions.

“That’s a lotta damage. What are the effects of such an injury, Doctor?”

“We call this sympathetic storming,” The doctor cleared his throat and expounded, “Mr. Topp is suffering from a continued, ongoing, heightened state of fight or flight.”

“The sympathetic nervous system is hyperactive. The feeling that stems from the trauma – Mr. Topp continually feels as if he is reliving the incident of trauma over and over again.”

Courtney spared Shayne a glance. He wore a poker face that would make Schoonover proud. He watched the doctor give his testimony with calm eyes. But Courtney didn’t miss the tick in his clenched jaw, or the tapping of his trigger finger against his knuckles.

“Doctor, does this sympathetic storming only affect individuals with backgrounds in active combat?” Keith asked.

“No. This heightened emotional state is like an instinct. It’s like a survival mechanism that gets flipped on and can’t be switched off,” Dr. Grant explained, “It can plunge a peaceful individual into mental and emotional chaos.”

“Now, Doctor, could you please remind us – define for us the definition of Extreme Emotional Disturbance.”

“For one, the defendant is so emotionally disturbed that he loses control of his actions. Second, the defendant has, from his point of view, a reasonable explanation for said disturbance.”

“Doctor, you’ve already discussed your extensive credentials and background with us. So, in your experience, what typically constitutes this,” Keith gestured as he spoke, “Reasonable explanation for the disturbance.”

Dr. Grant cleared his throat and with a nod, explained, “Typically, there are a whole range of traumatic, disturbing incidents. Some veterans experience these incidents during combat overseas. Other incidents could be situations in which the defendants nearly lost their lives. Witnessing tragic loss of life is also a typical explanation.”

“You mentioned tragic loss of life, Doctor. Are you aware of what happened to Mr. Topp’s family?”

“I am, yes.”

“I’d like to briefly recount the events to make sure we’re seein’ eye to eye here,” Keith stepped back towards the center of the room, “Mr. Topp witnessed his family’s violent deaths right in front of him. They were gunned down by three gangs, and Mr. Topp received a bullet to the head during the shootout. This led to the injury that put him in a continued state of fight or flight, sympathetic storming. Did I get that right, Doctor?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

Shayne’s breathing grew heavy, and Courtney saw the slightest twitch by his eye as the tension coiled around his body. She could see the storm brewing in his unsettled mind.

“Hey,” Courtney whispered.

Shayne turned his emotionless mask towards her and hummed, “Hm?”

“You’re my favorite pizza place.”

Shayne snorted and quickly tried to mask it with a cough. He reached for his glass of water, ignoring the looks the nearby bailiffs were shooting them.

Satisfied with the little upturn at the corner of Shayne’s lips, Courtney turned her attention back to the trial.

“Could the murder of Mr. Topp’s family be considered a reasonable explanation for his disturbance?”

“Objection, Your Honor,” Reyes stood up from the prosecution’s desk. “The defense calls for a conclusion.”

Judge Batzer looked at Reyes, then at Keith with narrowed eyes, appearing to think it over.

“What’s she objecting for?” Courtney leaned towards Olivia.

“Keith’s walking a thin line here. A witness can’t testify to the ultimate issue of the case,” Olivia explained, “For us, the ultimate issue is if Shayne suffers from EED or not, so we can mitigate the sentence. Keith’s flying close to the sun, but I think he’s okay. He’s still poking at the prerequisites and causes for EED. It’s not like he asked the doc outright if Shayne suffers from EED.”

“Your Honor,” Keith turned his charming smile towards Judge Batzer, “Dr. Grant is an _expert_ on the brain. He is qualified to give his opinion, which is not only relevant, but _imperative_ to the case.”

After a moment’s thought, the judge turned her head towards Reyes, “Overruled,” Then she looked towards their expert witness, “Dr. Grant?”

“I do believe that the defendant witnessing his family’s murder would sufficiently disturb him. It could send him into a perpetual heightened emotional state.”

Keith gave a satisfied nod as he went on, “Now, Doctor, can someone suffering from Extreme Emotional Disturbance willfully premeditate a crime?”

The doctor glanced down at his notes, and Courtney found herself doing the same. The direct examination was going smoothly so far. After Dr. Tepper, the medical examiner, was knocked out of the park, the scales were finally back in the defense’s favor. Now it was all a matter of proving EED to the jury and getting Shayne a reduced sentence.

“No. The defendant’s imbalanced, heightened emotional state would make him act irrationally and unlike himself. Any crimes would be considered crimes of passion.”

“Yeah, real passionate about killing shitbags,” Shayne muttered under his breath with a slight scoff.

Courtney nudged him with her knee as a signal to keep it down. Shayne gave a subtle nod and turned his head back to Keith and Dr. Grant. Fact of the matter was that Shayne sure as hell did premeditate all the attacks he pulled off. Courtney knew he still had ample reason to do so, and _was_ emotionally disturbed, but the jury didn’t need to know how willfully and meticulously planned his attacks were.

The lights of the courtroom flickered back on as the projector was shut off. Keith took several paces towards the doctor.

“You’ve testified countless times in similar cases, doctor. How many of these cases included the defendant witnessing their family brutally gunned down in front of them?”

Dr. Grant gave a slight shrug, “He’s the only one, counselor. Mr. Topp has been through hell.”

“Thank you, Doctor. Now-”

A shrill voice cut through the courtroom, “You killed my husband!”

The gallery’s collective gasps and mutters spread through the room as a woman stood up. All eyes turned to face her as she pointed an accusing finger at Shayne, who paled.

“I don’t give a shit what he’s been through!” Her voice cracked as she wailed, “We can’t even have a fucking open casket thanks to him!”

“Order! Order in my court!” The judge called as the bailiffs closed in on the woman.

“You killed him! You killed my husband and now he’s gone!” The tears, both furious and miserable, flowed down her face as she shrieked, “My son lost his father because of you!”

The bailiffs began to pull her away and towards the doors as she continued to howl and scream. Shayne turned back to face the front of the court. His eyes were downcast, hands clenched tightly into fists. His jaw ticked, and she could tell he was doing everything to keep a neutral expression.

Everyone that wasn’t looking at the hysterical woman was instead looking at Shayne, judgment and disgust in their eyes.

“I’m instructing each and every one of you to disregard that outburst,” Judge Batzer turned to the jury with a serious face, “Do not let it influence your opinions on this case.”

* * *

An afternoon recess was in order after the outburst shook the courtroom. After the judge denied a mistrial for the first outburst earlier in the month, and then for Tepper, it was unsurprising she denied a mistrial for this outburst as well. The only point of consolation was that this happened early on. They still had a few experts to bring in with similar testimonies, and then Shayne’s character witnesses. If this had happened at the tail-end of the trial, it would’ve broken down the sympathy they were building for Shayne. For now, they still had time to build it back up.

Keith, Noah, and Olivia went out to get coffee while Courtney sat with Shayne in the small breakroom assigned to the defense. It reminded her of Matt’s _office_. It was a small wood-paneled room with a musty smelling carpet. Shayne was sitting on one side of the dark wooden desk, staring at his restraints while Courtney flipped through her notebook across from him.

“I did that.” Shayne’s low voice let out. The tone he took was an uncertain one. Almost as if he said it out loud for confirmation.

Courtney closed her notebook and leaned back in her chair to look at him. His eyes were as dark and lost as that first night in the hospital.

“Right?” Shayne prompted her, “That lady, I took her husband from her. That was on me.”

Courtney bit her lip before asking, “You recognize her?”

Shayne’s brows met with a frown, “I remember her from visitation. Her and the kid. That’s Mike’s wife.”

The name brought the tempestuous and traumatic memories back up to the surface. Nausea filled her gut, and Courtney had to take a big sip of water from her glass on the table. She blinked back the red glow of the emergency lights and the sticky blood on her fingers.

In her nightmares, Mike was still kicking Shayne’s teeth in, and his murderous allies were sticking her with a shiv or two. Shayne’s words from the last week brought some comfort, but she still found it difficult to push the haunting images out of her mind. It was all still too vivid. The smells, the tastes – they were as raw and recent and overpowering as ever.

Whenever Courtney woke up in her mad throes, Max was always by her side. She’d press her face into the dog’s short fur as he licked her worries away. She hadn’t expected a former fighting dog to be such a cuddler, but there he was. Courtney wondered in private if the same applied to Shayne. Was the former Marine a cuddler? It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility, given how much of a softie he appeared to be. Max and Shayne might have that in common.

Like Shayne told her, she found something to hold onto to keep back the tide of horrible dreams. With Max’s warm, furry form by her side, she’d try and go back to sleep. The image of Shayne’s broad, muscular form enveloping her was what never failed to lull her to sleep. She imagined his warm breath against the nape of her neck. His strong arms wrapped around her in a manner that was as intimate as it was protective. It was a private fantasy that Courtney would never admit to him or anyone else.

“I did that.” Shayne said again, stirring Courtney from her thoughts, “I put a fucking toothbrush in that guy’s eye socket. I tore that family in two.”

“Shayne,” Courtney frowned, “It was us or him. And I – I got him pretty bad too, this isn’t just on you.”

Shayne shook his head, not meeting her gaze as she continued, “I can’t judge you. I’d never.”

His turbulent eyes were zipping all over the room. The desk. His cuffs. The glasses of water. Her hands. The door behind her. The other chairs.

His leg bobbed and bounced underneath the desk. The shackles binding his feet rattled along to the erratic rhythm.

The staccato tap-tap-tap of his trigger finger came in full force against the knuckles of his other hand.

With a heavy gulp, Shayne looked towards the door. Out at the rest of the world that judged and labeled him.

“Those people out there think I’m a monster, Court.”

Courtney leaned forward to grip his fidgeting hands. Shayne finally stopped to look at her with shoulders slumped.

“I know you’re not a monster, Shayne. You’re not,” She ducked her head slightly to meet his eyes better, “You’re not.”

The darkness in his narrowed eyes leaked out into his voice as he asked her, “You sure about that?” His lips pressed together in a thin line before adding, “What if I am?”

His humorless laugh came out with a huff, and he shook his head, “What if we find these people that did this to my family? What if nothing changes?”

“Shayne.”

“What if every one of those shitbags gets put in jail, put in the ground and nothing changes?” The loss in his broken eyes tugged at Courtney’s heartstrings.

Shayne’s tired shoulders gave a defeated shrug as he heaved a sigh, “What if the only goddamn thing I can think of is putting shitbags in the ground?

“What if this is just me now?”

His stormy eyes looked away once more as the thick silence settled between them. Courtney rubbed her thumbs against his now bruise-free knuckles as she chewed the words over in her mind.

She didn’t have a real answer for him. Courtney could never truly know what Shayne felt like. She could empathize and try all she wanted to. But to have his life shattered, and for his motivation to be fueled solely by a brief cluster of heart wrenching seconds – Courtney was at a loss. She had no idea how one could walk away from that and try to find some semblance of normal. She didn’t know how you could hunt down and murder fifty-six people to avenge your family’s death, then make your way back to regular life.

All she knew was that she’d help him try.

“We’re going to get back out there. Keith and Noah are going to keep doing what they do best. We’re going to get you reduced charges.”

Shayne hazarded to look back up to meet Courtney’s eyes with a melancholic frown.

“You and me,” Courtney’s finger deftly motioned between the two of them, “Together, we’re gonna find out if this is who you are now. Or if we can dig up the Shayne Topp from _before_. Or,” Courtney shrugged, “We’ll find out who Shayne Topp is in the _after_.”

Courtney wasn’t sure what it was that struck Shayne, but his frown deepened for a moment. He hung his head briefly, lips coming out to lick at his dry lips. As if to prove her point, Courtney fished a cup of Macrogurt out of her bag and firmly placed it down in front of him.

Shayne let out a quiet chuckle at the sight of it. He levelled his eyes back up to her. The tempest that swirled in them had begun to calm, giving way to the deep ocean eyes she was so drawn to.

“You and me, huh?” He frowned again, but the remorse and the worry were gone. In its place was a cautious hopefulness.

Courtney nodded slowly and gave his hands a soft squeeze, “You and me.”

* * *

The succeeding days in court were passing by quickly. The defense was bringing in several more expert witnesses. Keith and Noah ran them through the direct examinations to guide their testimonies. They continued to build up the strength of the EED defense as the days dragged on. Only one of their witnesses had cracked under Reyes’ cross examination so far. This was due to the fact that the doctor had lied about having no legal infractions. Even a doctor with an extensive background was liable to losing credibility when his DUI record gets brought up.

It was a small victory for the prosecution, but the defense was just glad they had another expert witness lined up until the character witnesses were scheduled. Schoonover was prepared to give his statement by the end of the week, while Haas was their opener for the following week.

Shayne’s limp was steadily improving as the days went by; the mobility of his left arm had mostly returned. He was a quick healer. Shayne said he had his silent guardians, Pope and Eli, to thank for that. With them watching his back, he was able to get more rest and recover quickly.

Courtney attended court with the team most days. Others, she continued her investigation into the Topp family’s massacre, or caught up on her other work that was accumulating. Smosh’s archives didn’t prove to be particularly fruitful, so she ended up reaching out to Ellison at the New York Bulletin as planned. Ellison agreed to let her dig through the archives on one condition: If she found pertinent information, The Bulletin got a one day exclusive before Smosh’s online article went live. Ian and Anthony agreed to the terms, and she got cracking.

Unfortunately, she wasn’t able to pull up anything conclusive so far. As far as she could tell, the John Doe with the disappearing body was a white male, about six feet tall, maybe in his thirties. The obituaries and the missing person reports weren’t particularly helpful. While she was at it, Courtney also dug up The Bulletin’s report on the carousel shootout. Similar to Smosh’s own article, there was no mention of the Topp family or the John Doe.

Matt at the precinct said he was getting access to the physical files within the week. He’d finally gotten through all the red tape to have them pulled from their own archives. He promised to contact her once he dug up anything of note. Until then, Courtney continued to run through the Bulletin’s archives with a fine-toothed comb.

Today, Courtney was back at the trial while Reyes was cross examining their third expert witness, Doctor Karp.

“Dr. Karp, how often have you testified in court the past year? Over a dozen times?”

“Yes,” The doctor replied.

“In the testimonies you’ve given, you mostly served as the defense’s expert witness, yes?” Reyes asked as she took several paces closer to the stand.

“Yes, that’s right.”

“In most of those cases, the defendant was a veteran, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“Mr. Topp is a veteran as well, is that correct?”

“Yes, that’s correct.”

“You served in the armed forces before becoming a doctor, is that correct?”

Dr. Karp narrowed his eyes at Reyes, “Yes.”

“Was Mr. Topp’s service in the Marines an influencing factor in your decision to testify on behalf of the defense?”

Courtney could see where this was going. Olivia had explained earlier that there were several angles of attack Reyes could take. Discrediting the expert witnesses could be done in many ways, ranging from contradictory testimony in the past, to the existence of his or her criminal record. Reyes was trying to discredit Dr. Karp on account of potential bias towards veterans such as Shayne.

“Yes.” Dr. Karp nodded.

“So, you as a veteran have testified on behalf of multiple veterans before, yes?”

“Yes.”

“Given all this, doesn’t it seem as though you favor veterans when you testify as an expert witness?”

“I favor the law, ma’am,” Dr. Karp’s steadfast voice cut through Reyes’ _yes train_ of questions, “I may testify for veteran defendants, but I assure you that justice takes precedence.”

Keith gave the defense a discreet thumbs up at the doctor’s ready rebuttals.

The district attorney paused, taking a few pacing steps away from the stand. “Have you testified on the prosecution’s side as an expert witness before, Doctor?”

“Yes, I have.”

“One such case was against a veteran, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“In the case _The People v George Olson_ , you testified against Mr. Olson, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

Courtney leaned over to Olivia, “Where’s she going with this?”

Keith and Noah were whispering amongst themselves, so Olivia was free to answer her, “George Olson was tried and found guilty for double homicide a year or two ago. The defense failed to prove PTSD as a mitigating factor. Karp testified against Olson back then. Reyes is trying to prove Karp inadmissible as a witness because of a contradictory testimony.”

“That’s different from our defense, so we should be okay, right?”

“As long as Karp doesn’t get tripped up, yeah.” Olivia nodded.

“In said trial, the defendant was attempting to use heightened emotional states and impaired mental faculties to mitigate the sentence, yes?”

“Yes,” Dr. Karp let out in a gruff voice.

“Did you then opine that the defendant, Olson, did not suffer from the emotional states discussed?”

“I did.”

“When Olson was put on the stand, he admitted to witnessing his brothers dying, and this is what led to his heightened emotional state, yes?”

“No,” Dr. Karp frowned, “You’re getting it wrong, ma’am. Olson was referring to his squad dying. In _The People v George Olson_ , the defendant claimed PTSD. I testified against the claim because Olson did not suffer from a heightened emotional state or PTSD. Olson was a notorious shitbag-”

“Language,” Judge Batzer warned.

“-that didn’t play nice with his squad. He had no close emotional attachment to his squad and did not suffer PTSD from witnessing their demise.”

Having thoroughly shut down Reyes’ line of questioning, Dr. Karp took to glaring at her. Reyes levelled her gaze right back as she addressed the judge, “That’ll be all. No further questions, Your Honor.”

* * *

Colonel Ray Schoonover was at the stand, hand on a bible as he was sworn in. His hair was neatly styled, and he wore his dark green service uniform from when he was still in the Marines. Courtney sat at her usual spot in between Olivia and Shayne. The man watched his old commanding officer with focused eyes. Keith, Noah, and Olivia were quietly going over last-minute chatter in hushed whispers. Noah was straightening out his suit jacket in preparation for the direct examination.

“Counsel?” Judge Batzer’s voice caught Leak and Grossman’s attention. The team broke up their huddle, and with a few pats on the back, Noah stood up.

Noah took the floor with calm, collected steps as he addressed Schoonover, “Colonel, how long have you known the defendant?”

“A little under a decade now. Most of his service in the Marine Corps.”

“You’re familiar with his service in the Middle East? Afghanistan, Iraq?” Noah asked.

“Yes,” Schoonover looked over at Shayne as he added, “Very familiar.”

“The defendant won the Navy Cross during his service in Afghanistan, is that correct?” Noah prompted.

“Yes. He did.”

“We understand that due to the nature of the mission, some of the information surrounding the medal is classified. Are you able to tell us what’s _not_?”

Schoonover gave a brief nod, “Staff Sergeant Topp was part of a small team. He was conducting a close target reconnaissance operation.”

“Could you explain what that entails, colonel?”

“A close target reconnaissance mission is primarily conducted for scouting – information gathering. Such scouting was done in close proximity to an active enemy presence.”

“Thank you, colonel. What happened then?”

“The mission was compromised. The team dealt with enemy contact from three different sides,” Schoonover looked over at the jury as he spoke, then towards the gallery, “SSG Topp wanted to abort. He always had a good instinct for saving lives. He said the mission was a bust now, and the plug had to be pulled to minimize casualties.”

Schoonover looked back in Shayne’s direction. Courtney could feel a moment of understanding between the two men pass.

“The officer in charge said no.”

“Why’s that?” Noah asked.

Schoonover cracked the smallest smirk, “Maybe he wanted more medals on his chest.” His neutral expression returned as he brought his attention to Noah, “Doesn’t matter. Either way, Shayne was right. Their team was boxed into a canyon. It was a death trap.”

“What happened next, colonel?”

With a brief lick of his lips, Schoonover went on, “Within the first hour, the officer in charge got his hand blown off.”

“Who was the next in command?”

“That would be SSG Topp. He assumed command and did what the last officer should have done. Shayne’s only goal was to get his men out alive,” The colonel spared another glance at Shayne before adding, “The enemy had set up an ambush at the only LZ that could accommodate their birds.”

“Sorry, Colonel, could you clarify that for the layman?”

With a quiet grunt, Schoonover obliged, “An LZ is a landing zone that can accommodate a helicopter to extract men from the field. The enemy blocked this area off, knowing it was the team’s only chance of getting out alive.”

“They were like fish in a barrel,” Noah observed as he took several calm steps closer to the stand.

“That saying gets thrown around a lot, counselor. I’d agree, except fish don’t know they’re going to die. These men did.”

The tapping of Shayne’s trigger finger went off as he glared down at his restraints with a frown and a subconscious twitch of his nose. He rolled his shoulders to ease the tension setting in. Courtney could practically see the memories swirling around his head as he relived the fight of his life. Schoonover had relayed this story to them already. She knew how rough the experience was. She would’ve held his arm or reached out to him to give a semblance of comfort. But it felt strange to do so under Schoonover’s watch. Courtney crossed her arms to keep herself from fidgeting.

“Mortars – long range explosives – were going off around the team. SSG Topp’s close friend, SSG Russo was killed in a mortar blast.”

Shayne’s jaw ticked, and Courtney watched his face darken. He’d mentioned Billy Russo before in passing, but never spoke about the man much. All she knew was that they were close, and that Shayne lost him the same night he earned that medal.

“After Russo, Shayne decided that there would be no more casualties that night. He knew there was no other way but straight through the enemy. He went to the LZ all by himself to clear a path,” Schoonover said as his eyes went from juror to juror. A few scattered whispers filled the gallery at the dramatic turn of the story.

Noah stuck to their outline as he asked, “Why didn’t he order one of his men to do it? He certainly could have.”

Schoonover shook his head, his face cracking into a brief, proud smirk, “Not his style.”

“The team stay and wait as Shayne charges off by himself. They hear the firefight break out. It goes on for a good ten minutes; all hell breaks loose. It’s Shayne against God knows how many. Then, silence.”

Noah patiently waited as Schoonover let the dramatic pause hang for a moment, “The team starts thinking: _that’s it. Shayne’s dead. We’re next._ ”

“Next sound they hear are the helicopters flying overhead. They get to the landing zone, and you know what they see?”

Noah cracked a smile, “What’s that, Colonel?”

“Shayne Topp on one knee, bleeding like hell, grinning like a fool. Thirty-two enemy insurgents surround him, all dead.”

Murmurs continued to permeate the gallery, and Courtney could practically feel all the eyes in their direction. Shayne kept his steady frown pointed at his fidgeting hands, uneager for the attention.

“The guy cleared the LZ all by himself.” Schoonover said in a low voice, almost as if he himself still couldn’t believe it.

“How?” Noah asked with a half-shrug.

“By being Shayne Topp.”

“All his men survived, excluding Staff Sergeant Russo?” Noah took steady paces back to the center of the floor.

“Yes. Including the idiot officer that got ‘em trapped in the first place.” Schoonover looked back over at Shayne as he added, “Shayne Topp is a man that would gladly give his life to keep others safe. He’s selfless, and always puts other people ahead of himself.”

“The Shayne Topp you knew in your nearly decade of service together – could that man have committed the crimes he’s accused of today?”

“No. The Staff Sergeant Shayne Topp that I knew is a hero. He’s a man that deserves our respect,” There was a pause before he added, “And our gratitude.”

Courtney’s phone began to vibrate against the defense’s table. She snatched it before it could make more of a ruckus. Shayne watched her with curious eyes as she checked the cracked display.

Matt’s name flashed on the screen with a new text message. Courtney glanced up at the court to see Noah making his way back to the defense’s bench. Reyes was preparing to get up for her cross examination.

**Matt:** Got something big. Can you drop by the 15th?

Courtney fired back a quick text to agree. She leaned over to Olivia, showing the broken screen and its messages as she said, “I gotta head over to the precinct. Can I slip out?”

Olivia nudged Noah, who just sat down, and relayed the same to him. His hand shot up before Reyes could stand to begin her cross examination, “Your Honor, my assistant Ms. Miller has a personal emergency to attend to. May she be excused?”

“Granted, counselor,” Judge Batzer nodded, before turning her attention back to Reyes, “Ms. Reyes, you may proceed.”

With a brief squeeze of Shayne’s bicep, and the promise she’d keep them posted, Courtney made her exit. Her mind was racing by the time she hit the road. The week so far had been a busy one in the courtroom, and a slow one outside of it. Reyes had gone through all their expert witnesses and only succeeded in getting one to crack. The rest were solid and bolstered the EED defense.

They’d won back most of the favor they’d lost from the outburst earlier in the week. Now that the character witnesses were being brought in, they were entering the final leg of the trial. After Haas gave his testimony, Reyes would have a chance to bring in expert witnesses to rebuke theirs, or character witnesses to reflect Shayne’s bad character.

At the moment, they were confident Reyes would have little to no one to bring in. Any expert witnesses she brought in would be scrutinized and doubted by the jury – after all, who in their right mind would say that witnessing their family’s murder wouldn’t cause an emotional disturbance? Any character witnesses Reyes brought forward would crack under Noah’s cross examination, and she knew it. She’d be better off not taking anyone in to avoid swaying the jurors further in the defense’s favor.

On Courtney’s side, things had been more of the same the past few days. Max went with her to work and the Bulletin as she dug into the archives. When she went to the courthouse, Max enjoyed being babysat by Ian and Anthony (but mostly Anthony). Courtney had all but given up her search through the archives from all the dead ends she’d hit. It was a relief that Matt finally uncovered something of value.

It was early in the afternoon by the time she got to the 15th precinct in Hell’s Kitchen. It was less packed this time of day, as most officers were now out and about. She checked her gun in at the front desk with Officer Martin, who directed her to proceed to Matt’s office. Courtney knocked on the door to Matt’s closet of an office before letting herself in. The detective sat at his desk, surrounded by boxes he’d pulled from storage.

“Whatcha got?”

“So far, I haven’t pulled up any physical evidence of drugs at the scene, but,” Matt held a hand up when Courtney’s face fell, “I found this.”

Matt extended a report by the Crime Scene Investigation unit that handled the shootout. Courtney took it in her hands and ran her eyes across the paper’s surface.

“There’s no mention of the John Doe or his weapon that we saw disappear in the photos. But if you look over here,” He stood up to point out one section in the document, “You’ll see they scratched this out.”

True enough, one line of evidence was hastily scratched out in pen, which explained why it hadn’t been encoded into the system. Courtney brought the paper closer to her face as she squinted to get a better look at the messy writing.

“A bag of…” Courtney trailed off as she stared at the ink on the page.

“Heroin.” Matt confirmed, “Over here,” He pointed further along the same line at another hurriedly erased sentence, “They describe the bag as clear, with the image of an anvil stamped onto it.”

Courtney’s eyes lit up, “This is it,” She laughed softly, “Matt! This confirms the drug link!”

Matt smiled, but took the cautious road, “It’s hard to say why the officers struck the line out of the evidence record.”

“Same reason they’re covering up what happened to the Topp family and the John Doe,” Courtney said, “Someone’s trying to hide something.”

The detective shrugged, “It’s possible.”

“Okay – so,” She let out another slight laugh. Her head felt the tiniest bit light as the euphoria from the break in the case sunk in, “We talk to the guys that made the report, right?”

Matt scrunched his face up and shook his head. His finger came up to point at the bottom of the report, “Signature field is blank. No name, no ID number, no nothing.”

“Damnit,” Courtney grunted as she handed the paper back to Matt. “The heroin is a lead. That anvil’s gotta mean something. A type? A dealer?”

“Possibly a dealer. Before the DEA cracked down on the Chinese heroin, they branded their bags too.”

“Okay,” Courtney began to gesture with her hands as she spoke, “We find out if any of these anvil heroin bags are turning up elsewhere. Maybe the bigshot heroin dealer is behind the cover up or something.”

Matt nodded, “It’s worth a shot. But…”

Courtney huffed a frustrated sigh, “C’mon, man, no buts!”

He shrugged, waving the report in his hand, “This means I need to open a case to look into a mystery heroin dealer based on scratched out notes on an unsigned CSI report. It’s gonna be hard getting support on this.”

“No one ever said unraveling a cover up would be easy. C’mon, I’ll help you look through this stuff,” Courtney nodded her head at the stacks of boxes, “Maybe there’s something you missed.”

* * *

DA Reyes smoothed out her attire as she got to her feet. Shayne watched the witch approach Schoonover on the stand with collected, calculated steps.

“Colonel, I’d like to personally thank you for your service.”

Shayne felt the scowl creeping up to his lips but soon pushed it back down. Courtney would be kicking his leg if she caught him snarling like that. It wasn’t a good look for the jury.

Schoonover gave an appreciative nod as Reyes continued, “How long were you in the service, colonel?”

“About twenty-two years.”

Reyes pursed her lips and nodded, “How many men have you had under your command?’

“At any point in time, about five thousand.” Schoonover shrugged one shoulder, “But faces come and go, so it’s bound to be more than that.”

“In combat, the unity of a team is very important, yes?”

“It is.” The colonel nodded.

“In all the combat operations you’ve overseen, the most success comes from units with cohesion and teamwork, yes?”

Schoonover appeared to consider the question for a moment before nodding, “Among other factors, yes.”

“The defendant acted alone that night of the close target reconnaissance mission, yes?”

“Yes.”

“If a lone man acted on his own instinct in any other operation, wouldn’t you call that recklessness?”

Shayne took the effort to suppress the glower he was training on Reyes. Schoonover glanced in his direction, and Shayne could sense the colonel’s own irritation rising. With a sigh, the colonel answered, “Perhaps depending on the circumstances. Recklessness and heroism tend to go hand in hand.”

“If the defendant failed to eliminate the enemy, would that have resulted in more loss of life?”

“Yes.”

“Wouldn’t you say then, colonel, that the defendant was reckless that night?”

“He was as reckless as he was brave, ma’am. If Shayne got himself killed, then his men would have been picked off. If he did nothing, they still would have been killed,” Schoonover turned his steely gaze over the jury, then back to Reyes, “In the end, it was the right call.”

Reyes changed her avenue of attack at that. Her head bobbed with a nod or two, then asked, “Have you seen a lot of medals awarded in your time, colonel?”

“I have.”

“It takes pretty extraordinary feats to earn such awards, yes?”

“Yes.”

“The citations for these awards are always the truth, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Have there not been instances where awards were denied?”

“There have been.”

“Those instances include,” Reyes gave a slight shrug, “False reports and overblown accounts, yes?”

A prickly heat ran across Shayne’s skin. They’d prepared for this. The direct examination was setup in part to bait Reyes into this line of questioning. That didn’t make Shayne any less pissed off that she was insinuating what happened that night was a fabrication. He had all the goddamn scars on his body to prove it.

“Yes. It happens.”

“My father served in Vietnam, colonel. Do you know what he used to say about medals?”

Schoonover bit back his grimace as he answered, “No, ma’am.”

“He said the only ones that truly know what happened,” She gave a plastic smile, “Are the ones that were there. Would you agree with that sentiment, colonel?”

A subtle quirk at the corner of the colonel’s lips was easily missed by anyone unfamiliar with the man’s mannerisms. “I agree.”

“It was a nice story you told, colonel.” Reyes paused, “But it’s just a story. How do we know it happened as you described it?”

As angry as the accusation made Shayne, the anticipation built in his gut as Schoonover successfully walked her into the trap.

“Oh, perhaps I wasn’t clear, ma’am,” The colonel leaned forward to rest his arms on the stand. His prosthetic right hand, previously concealed under his long sleeve, was now in plain sight. “I was there.”

Reyes paled.

“That officer that didn’t listen to Shayne, got his men trapped, got Bill Russo killed,” Schoonover gave a remorseful sigh, “You’re looking at him.”

Another surge of whispers began to spread throughout the gallery and among the jury. Reyes shuffled in place as Schoonover continued, “Believe me, I thank God every day that I _only_ lost my hand.”

Schoonover turned to Shayne as he went on, “Shayne Topp, reckless, heroic – doesn’t matter. What matters is that he saved more lives that day than I ever could’ve.” He gave a dramatic pause, and Shayne felt a small smirk of his own come on, because he knew how much Schoonover secretly loved playing up the drama.

“If it were up to me, he’d have a Medal of Honor hanging around his neck.”

Reyes visibly unclenched her jaw as she nodded at Schoonover. She turned her displeased face to Judge Batzer, “No further questions at this time, Your Honor.”

All eyes were on her as low mutters filled the courtroom. Schoonover looked over at the defense’s table and shot them a subtle wink.

Court was dismissed shortly after the failed cross examination. The smashing success for the defense was due in part to the public availability of Shayne’s military records. Apparently, the reports of their clusterfuck in the mountains was heavily redacted and barely had any names on it.

When this became apparent to the team, Olivia pitched that Schoonover tiptoe around his wording to avoid giving out that he was present that night. It would lead Reyes to hang onto that lead and try to set him up for a fall from there. The tables would turn and hit her hard when Schoonover revealed he was the officer in charge that led to the bloody mess. Olivia’s plan was executed swimmingly.

They returned to the defense’s break room in high spirits. Normally, they would’ve had afternoon recess. Since Reyes failed to cross examine Schoonover, Judge Batzer called the session off for the day. They had some time before the prison transport from Rikers picked him up to haul him away. His return trip wasn’t scheduled until a little later. Schoonover stepped out with Keith and Noah to grab coffee for the rest. They forced Olivia to stay behind as a reward for her tactic’s success while they did the legwork. Schoonover said he didn’t get enough walking nowadays, so he was glad for the excuse to join them.

Shayne sat back by that desk, with Olivia across from him. They shared a somewhat companionable if not rather awkward silence. They’d never been alone together much and had little common ground to discuss. The few times they did speak alone, it was to ask for his coffee or tea preference, or to discuss the case and the trial. The only exception he could remember was when he apologized for being an asshole and chasing them around with a shotgun.

He was pleasantly surprised when Olivia looked up from her notes to ask, “Hey, Shayne, what was it like being out there?”

Shayne raised his head from the newspapers messily splayed on the desk. He offered her a smile while he considered his answer. It was a broad question that got him thinking. His time as a Marine was something that he wouldn’t trade for much at all in the world. His last few months in the service, admittedly, were darker and deadlier than the rest. There were a lot of targeted hits, kidnappings, and assassinations of high value targets. The kind of black ops shit that special forces groups tend to get bad reps for. But these were terrorists. Schoonover’s information was solid.

Regardless of the bloody months leading to his discharge, there were many other memories he had from his deployment. Many were fond moments he could look back on with a smile on his face. He let the words come out as they came into his head.

“Hot. Just – really hot,” Shayne let out a quiet laugh; he could imagine the sweltering sun beating down, “If you think summer here is hot, wait ‘til you get to Iraq or Afghanistan.” He paused to visualize their dusty, sandy bases, “There’s a lot of waiting. We do a lot of – well, not doing anything for long stints. But when it’s time to get going, shit really gets going.”

“You ever jump out of helicopters and stuff?”

Shayne grinned, “It’s both scary and fun as hell. But if I had to pick, I’d take parachuting out of a plane any day. Hot-roping down a helicopter sucks,” Shayne huffed even as the smile was steadfast on his face, “Rope burn for days, man.”

“You were a sniper, right? What was that like?”

“Oh God, if you think you’re a patient person, the USMC’s Scout Sniper School teaches you otherwise. Nicole used to say-” Shayne’s fond smile lost its sheen, and he was suddenly painfully aware of Courtney’s absence.

His eyes darted away from Olivia’s. He took the moment to do his best to reset his frown. Courtney would want him to brave through it if he could, because talking helped. Even if it was tough, and even if Courtney never pushed him. Sometimes he wondered if he was under some kind of spell with how easily Courtney got him to open up.

“Shayne, you don’t have to,” Olivia gave a sympathetic frown.

“No, it’s okay.” Shayne cleared his throat and brought his eyes back to meet Olivia’s, “Nicole used to say I was the most patient guy she knew. Lines at the DMV, grocery, Disneyland – they never bothered me. They used to. But after you spend an entire day in the hot sun lying on the rocky ground…”

Shayne winced at the memory and laughed softly, “Trying not to get stung by scorpions. Nothing but your camo netting to keep you cool. Not allowed to talk to your spotter apart from a few quiet commands. Those days were something else.”

“Not as high action as I expected, honestly.” Olivia deadpanned.

Shayne laughed, but shook his head, “There was plenty of action. Avoiding scorpions while trying not to move just tends to _sting_ with you, y’know?” He leaned forward as the pun sunk in, “Hm? Sting with you?”

Olivia made a face. “I can’t believe you used to be a comedian.”

He barked out a laugh at her displeased expression, “Yeah, I think reactions like yours are why I joined the Marines instead.” Shayne cleared his throat and got back on topic, “But, yeah. Lots of action. Patrols, reconnaissance, overwatch…”

“Overwatch isn’t anything like the game, right?”

“Not quite,” Shayne chuckled, “More to do with making sure my men get home in one piece. Spotting and calling out threats, taking them out…”

“How do you spot them?”

It was a good question. There was a good bit of instinct and experience involved. After a while, you figure out what sort of rooftops, windows, and camouflage the enemy prefers. You know what to look out for. From there, it’s a matter of having a sharp eye and working well with your spotter. A particular saying from Schoonover crossed Shayne’s mind.

“The colonel used to say being a sniper is like being an artist. One thing they got in common is an eye for detail,” As he spoke, he could picture the flat, dusty roofs stacked with sandbags, “You learn to notice the tiniest things. Colors out of place, shadows that don’t match, shapes where they shouldn’t be.”

After a pause, Shayne added, “Then there’s the shiny glint of an enemy sniper’s scope, but that’s a dead giveaway.”

Olivia nodded in thought and looked ready to pose a question when the door opened. Keith, Noah, and Schoonover stepped in, smiles all around like someone just cracked a joke.

“You _floored_ Reyes, Colonel,” Noah grinned at the man. He nodded his head in greeting towards Olivia and Shayne, then set their orders down on the table, next to Keith’s fancy briefcase.

“She didn’t see that one coming,” Keith added as he took a casual seat at the edge of the desk. The two men had glints in their eyes from the high they were riding of dealing another hit to Reyes’ case.

Schoonover eased down into the second chair across from Shayne. He gave a quiet chuckle, “Can’t take all the credit.” He tilted his head at Olivia, “It was Ms. Sui’s idea after all.”

Olivia beamed a shy smile and shot the two lawyers appreciative looks, “What can I say? I learn from the best.”

The trio lapsed into more technical talk shortly thereafter. They mentioned Damien, who was scheduled to testify early next week. The team began to recap the plan they had, and the outline they’d all but finalized for him. Shayne began to tune them out, focusing instead on the plastic cup of coffee in his shackled hands. So far, Shayne could definitively rank that courthouse coffee was the best coffee. That was compared to hospital coffee and prison coffee, anyway.

“How you holding up, son?” Schoonover asked. He swirled the cup of coffee around, watching him with sharp eyes.

Shayne gave a slow nod. “Doin’ better, Colonel.” He tilted his head to the cane leaning on the desk, “Cane’s mostly for show nowadays.”

“I heard about what happened in Rikers. You gave ‘em a hell of a fight, huh?”

Courtney’s bloody face in a headlock was fresh in his mind. He had to swallow the hot flare that rose within him before asking, “They tell you ‘bout that?”

At Schoonover’s nod, Shayne answered, “Yeah. Could say that.”

“Ms. Miller’s a fighter. I’m glad you both got out in one piece.” Schoonover’s sympathetic eyes went right through him. It was the same look he’d given Shayne when they got back to base after that clusterfuck. Schoonover was more rocked by Billy’s death than the loss of his own hand.

“Me too, Colonel. She’s…” Shayne’s head swiveled away for a moment as the words escaped him. He realized just then that Schoonover was the first person from his old life he’d talked to in a while. The last time he talked to Damien was before he began punishing. It was strange having his two worlds collide. Schoonover from before his life went to hell, and Courtney, his lighthouse guiding him through the current shitstorm.

“She’s something else, colonel.” He turned his head back to his old commanding officer, “Dunno what I did to deserve help from a girl like that, really. She’s just…”

Shayne trailed off again as the tranquil images of cohabitation lingered in his mind. He cleared his throat, “She’s a big help. With the case and all”

“And the article she wrote,” Schoonover added.

Shayne paused, glancing once at his legal team, who chattered on about the trial. Judging by the nonchalance with which Schoonover stated it, he assumed that Leak and Grossman looped him in on the pseudonym Courtney was running with.

“Yeah. She’s dedicated,” The proud smile inched its way up to his face, “Courtney’s looking for the truth and I think she’s gonna find it.”

Almost as if on cue, Olivia’s phone rang, and she readily announced, “It’s Courtney.”

Olivia raised the phone up to her ear, and Shayne found himself leaning in a fraction closer to listen.

“Court, mind if I put you on speaker?” A pause, “Okay.”

With a few taps on her phone, Olivia stood up to stand by the center of the room. All eyes were on Olivia and her phone, “Go ahead, girl.”

“Hey guys, we got a big find here. The Colonel’s hunch about the drugs was right. We found an old CSI report. Someone used a pen to strike out some documented evidence. A bag of heroin with this anvil logo on it.”

There was a brief feeling of just being dumbstruck. Courtney had done it again. With Raub’s help, she nailed down another big lead on his family’s murder. This all but confirmed that the shootout was a result of some kind of drug deal. The questions now were who was behind this anvil-tagged heroin drug deal? How was the District Attorney’s office involved in all this? Who was the John Doe that died along with his family? And of course: Why was it all being covered up?

Keith, Noah, and Olivia shared matching impressed looks with one another. Schoonover wore a thoughtful frown on his face.

“We’re gonna continue digging through physical evidence at the moment, but that’s it for now. That’s our big break.”

“Great goin’, Court Bourt,” Keith chimed, “We’re just wrappin’ up here. Shayne’s gonna be sent back to Rikers any minute now.”

Noah spoke up, “Congrats, Courtney. Let us know if there’s anything you need.”

Courtney hummed from the other end of the line, before responding, “Nothing in particular. Shayne there?”

“Yeah,” Shayne called out as Olivia brought the phone closer to him.

“We’re gonna find these shitbags, Shayne. We’re getting close. I can feel it.”

For the nth time, try as he might, Shayne couldn’t figure out what he did to deserve the unrelenting support of Courtney Miller. He owed her more than he could ever repay. Shayne shook his head slightly, a fond beam on his face, “Thanks, Court. Knew I could count on you.”

Courtney bid their party goodbye once Leak and Grossman updated her on Schoonover’s cross examination. She got back to work with Detective Raub. Schoonover excused himself just then as well, saying he had to make a call and tend to some work-related matters. Soon after, a knock on their door alerted them to the arrival of Shayne’s prison transport. Two correctional officers toting rifles were here to pick him up. He was loaded up into the back of the transport truck at the rear entrance of the courthouse.

Two officers sat in the back with him, while a driver and a third officer sat at the front, separated by a metal grill. Two police escort vehicles accompanied the truck. One was at the lead, while the second brought up the rear. It was standard procedure he’d gotten used to at this point. Shayne took to loosening the dark tie around his neck to kill time. It wasn’t the easiest task with his limbs bound, and his left hand still a little stiff.

The past weeks while the trial went on, Leak and Grossman spearheaded the defense. Courtney dutifully continued her investigation. Shayne focused on his recovery. When he wasn’t sleeping while Pope and Eli stood watchful nearby, he was (figuratively) hitting up the other people in his cellblock. He was running an investigation of his own.

Shayne learned that some other inmates overheard Officers Alan Lee and Steven Johnson talking about what happened. They were practically bragging about how they beat Bell down before the warden executed him. Shayne was planning on pulling the plug on August’s protection next week in exchange for his help digging up more on the three. So far, all he had were physical descriptions, and a vague idea of their shifting schedules.

Shayne didn’t have a plan just yet of how he was going to shiv the two dirty correctional officers and their shitbag boss. He figured a riot – a real one – was his best bet. If he could instigate one, or get one of the gangs to start shit, he could strike the two down in the confusion if they were both on duty. The only problem was that he didn’t have Bell to bail his ass out of solitary confinement if he got caught. He shuddered to think of the weeks he’d be shut into the hole, and the possible retaliation the other dirty COs would take. Not to mention, Gates wouldn’t risk his neck to be anywhere near the riot.

That brought him back to the drawing board. Revenge was a time-consuming process like that.

The sharp crackle of the truck’s radio stirred Shayne from his thoughts.

“Proceed to checkpoint bravo, over.”

The driver appeared to share a look with the officer in the passenger seat. The latter grabbed the radio and asked, “Why are we moving to checkpoint bravo, over?”

After a brief rumble of static, the radio came back to life. “We’ve intercepted word of a credible threat to your transport, over.”

Shayne took a deep breath.

This wasn’t good.

It could be Reyes taking her next shot. It made sense, but this was _incredibly_ high profile. A prison hit was easier to cover up. Quiet, contained, quick, and deadly. Ambushing a prison transport was some Mad Max shit. She would have to be out of her mind and desperate to put out a hit on him while he was in transit.

Unless this was the doing of the anvil-branded heroin dealing kingpin.

The officer at the front responded into the radio’s receiver, “H-hey, what are we dealing with here, over?”

“No details yet. Reroute to checkpoint bravo and put Topp in a holding cell. We’re going to notify checkpoint bravo. Await further orders, out.”

The officer in the passenger seat gulped audibly, “Copy, out.” He changed the dial of the radio and began to address the escort vehicles, relaying their new orders.

Shayne looked at the other two men in the back with him. They exchanged alarmed, wide eyed looks of their own. With unsteady hands, they tugged back on the charging handles of their rifles to prepare them for firing.

For obvious reasons, there were no windows in the back of the transport vehicle. All Shayne could see through was the grating leading to the front of the truck. He could hardly make out where they were, or where the hell checkpoint bravo was.

Shayne had seen his fair share of roadside ambushes. Being in the middle of New York City, they didn’t have to worry about any improvised explosive devices planted on the road. Instead, they had much different things to worry about. If Shayne had to plan it, he’d have a vehicle with sufficient mass ram the target vehicle at a chokepoint. Shooters would reveal themselves in the adjacent buildings surrounding the collision to setup a kill box. Support vehicles would similarly make themselves known and light up the escort vehicles with heavy automatic fire.

It was the right decision to reroute to the nearest checkpoint for holding. A building was far more defensible than a convoy in the middle of the road. The fact that the man on the radio used the term _holding cell_ meant they were going to a police station. The question was which one.

Shayne tried his luck as the transport began to pick up speed. He turned to the officers with him, “Checkpoint bravo, where’s that?”

The only acknowledgment Shayne got that he’d even spoken were glances in his direction before they looked away. Both officers stayed busy by preparing themselves for the possible ambush. They strapped on the Kevlar vests he’d never seen them wearing up until this point.

As they got the spare magazines strapped to their persons, Shayne tried again, “C’mon, we’re about to get shot to shit here – where’s checkpoint bravo?”

One of them heaved an irate sigh and answered, “Hell’s Kitchen. It’s the closest precinct. This way we’re off the road ASAP.”

“Get your ass ready to move, Topp. We’re pullin’ up in a sec.”

Shayne’s jaw clenched shut. It was just his goddamn luck that checkpoint bravo was the same precinct Courtney was in.

He took another deep breath. This was a police station. It was filled with many capable men and women that would protect her. They knew better than to keep civvies in the line of fire. They’d either evacuate the building or keep them far away from the front line if the ambush turned into a building siege.

She wouldn’t be hurt.

The transport came to a hard stop, forcing the seatbelt to dig into Shayne’s midsection. He winced as he righted himself and one officer got to work unbuckling him. The second officer had his rifle shouldered and a hand on the door handle.

The officer freed Shayne of the seatbelt before yanking him up to his feet. Shayne’s cane lay forgotten by the side as he felt a hand on the nape of his neck guide him.

“Detainee ready!”

“Moving!” The officer called to the two men at the front. The driver and the passenger debarked just as the back doors were pushed open. Shayne squinted at the light as the officer did a brief check of his surroundings before hopping off. The officer to his side guided him out the back of the truck and towards the precinct.

Shayne quickly registered the 15th precinct’s appearance. Sturdy, red brick outer walls. Far too many windows. Two floors. One main entrance. They walked up the steps and through the open double doors.

His stomach dropped when he saw how wholly unprepared the police officers were. They were going about their business as if nothing was wrong – as if there was no credible threat of an attack on their location.

The correctional officer at the lead yelled, “I need a holding cell, now!”

Several heads snapped in their direction. Shayne recognized Officer Martin at the front desk, the man who loosened his straps in the hospital. He stood up with growing concern in his eyes.

He tried again, “Did _anyone_ receive a radio call from Rikers about our arrival?”

Officer Martin meekly replied, “Comms have been buggy.”

The CO cursed under his breath. He took matters into his own hands then, turning to Shayne and the officer guiding him. He motioned towards the crowd with a sharp jerk of his head before marching forward. The driver and the other CO remained by the double doors, rifles at the ready.

The police officers in the escort vehicles came in after them and brought a sense of panic as they entered. They began barking at the rest of the officers about the imminent attack and were quickly drowned out in the cacophony of questions that followed. The few officers present parted to allow them to pass, some of them motioning in the direction of the holding cells. They made it halfway into the bullpen by the time an older man in a suit came to a stop in front of them.

“What’s going on here?” His sharp voice cut through the loud, rattled discussions that had broken out.

The CO at the lead replied, “Are you in charge here, sir?”

“Chief Schwarz,” The station chief identified himself.

“Sir, we’ve received report of an imminent attack on our transport to Rikers. We were directed to hold here and await further orders.”

Bright blonde hair immediately caught Shayne’s attention. His eyes snapped across the room to see Courtney, accompanied by Detective Raub. The heavy beating of his heart doubled as she took long strides in his direction, concern evident on her face.

This was the goddamn prison visitation room all over again.

He tried to make her stay away to keep her safe. She shut that shit down, and this was what they got.

She was in danger _again_ because of him, because he was such a fucking shit magnet of the highest order. If they got out of this in one piece, he needed to push her far away from the shitstorm of his life – for real.

If he lost her too –

Shayne purged the thought from his mind.

“Sir, we need to place Topp in a holding cell and lock the station down, evacuate all nonessential personnel,” The CO went on to explain the situation to Chief Schwarz.

“Shayne,” Courtney stopped to stand next to him. Her hand came up, as if to reach for him, before settling back by her side. Shayne knew she was a smart, intuitive lady. But panic did things to people. It was contagious and spread like a virus. She’d heard the words _imminent attack_ for sure, but it probably hadn’t sunk in yet. Hell – the police officers in the room were standing in the open with uncertainty and anxiety in their eyes. Nobody was running to the armory to retrieve the guns and armor.

“Court, you gotta get outta here. Get out now.” Shayne’s firm voice left little room to argue. This wasn’t time for bravado and talk of taking care of herself. Shayne knew she could. He saw her stick a goddamn shiv into Mike’s neck. Courtney could take care of herself and _him_. Shit – he never even got to _thank_ her for saving his life.

Shayne watched Courtney’s tongue run across her lips in a quick motion. Her lips parted, and words seemed to be coming from her mouth, but they didn’t register.

He could hear rubber skidding – shredding against asphalt from an abrupt stop. The sharp metallic racking of weapons ready to fire.

Shayne blinked.

He saw the life draining out of Nicole’s dark eyes with every ounce of blood that oozed from her body.

He felt the heft of Lizzy’s mangled remains in his arms.

He saw Bell’s battered form, his stubbly face disfigured by a bullet to the head.

Shayne blinked again.

He dived at Courtney, knocking her to the ground and shielding her with his body as the hail of deafening gunfire tore through the windows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wooo, the spice is here my dudes! Hope you enjoyed this one! Let me know how you liked it! I spent a lot of time digging through court transcripts again to tweak how those scenes played out, and I hope they paid off :) I'll catch you guys in the next update.


	15. Sitting Ducks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The 15th Precinct fights to survive. Courtney stands by her post. Shayne steps up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some graphic descriptions and violence in this one.
> 
> I realize that this chapter comes out at a rather inopportune time for my American readers with the current protests and riots that are occurring. My heart goes out to all those affected whether by the opportunistic looters, or by those in the police abusing their power and scope of authority. When I first wrote this draft of the attack on the station about a week ago, I couldn't have seen this whole mess in Minneapolis going down. I recognize the irony(?) in having some chapters (and the whole story for the most part) where the police heavily take the role of the good guys. I understand in the American reality, it's a terrible mixed bag of rotten apples and good men and women tainting themselves by turning a blind eye to the injustices around them.
> 
> As a non-American writer, I only ask that you keep an open mind reading this fictional piece set in your very real city. Thank you.

It was out of habit that Shayne was assessing the damage even as the onslaught was still happening. What struck him first was the sheer number of bodies. Their limp forms were sprawled all over the bullpen – lying on the ground, draped over desks, slumped against walls. Death was _everywhere_. The white wall being pummeled by machinegun fire was painted with ghastly splatters of red. The dirty tile floor was made filthier still by the crimson filling the cracks and pooling under every fresh body.

The sound of Courtney’s frightened screams brought him back to reality.

“Shh,” Shayne hushed gently amidst the thundering crack of bullets overhead. His entire body was draped over Courtney as her panicked yells died down to frightened gasps for breath. He had his cuffed hand over her head to keep it pressed to the ground where it was safe. Shayne’s other manacled hand anchored onto her shoulder to keep her from even thinking of getting up. He pressed his face into her hair as he whispered, “You’re okay, Court. Shh, you’re fine.”

Through the loud torrent of gunfire, Shayne could make out a muted explosion from somewhere else in the building. The lights blacked out, plunging the station into darkness. The dim emergency lights flickered into place a moment later. It bathed the room in its dim, eerie warm glow.

“Shh – I got you, Court. I’m here.”

Courtney’s shaking fingers came up to wrap around his arm in a tight grip. His thumb drew gentle strokes against her cheek as he held her down. Shayne continued his soothing hush into her ear until her breathing gained a semblance of regularity.

A thick haze settled into the bullpen. Glass shards haphazardly lay scattered on the tile floor. There was the briefest silence as the gunfire came to a halt. Shayne kept his weight on Courtney’s body as he hazarded to inch up and survey the scene.

The stinging, burning sensation along Shayne’s upper arm as he raised himself up was the indicator that he had sustained a flesh wound.

And not the Monty Python type of disproportionately severe flesh wound.

An actual graze from the bullet tearing through his suit jacket, button down shirt, and his skin.

But Shayne’s mind was hardly focused on that. He was rapidly taking in his surroundings. A small number of police officers had successfully hit the deck in time, taking minimal damage from the onslaught. The majority wasn’t so lucky. Among the dead, Shayne counted the station chief, along with the armed guards from the prison transport.

Through the layer of smoke that permeated the air, he could make out the bespectacled form of Officer Martin peeking out from the front desk. With wild eyes, he pushed his now-crooked glasses into place as he yanked his service pistol free from its holster. Finding nobody else taking action, he called out, “C’mon guys, return fire!”

Officer Martin turned the steel desk onto its side to create makeshift cover, then began firing his gun out the front door. Several of the other officers were able to regain their senses and followed suit. Desks were toppled over, knocking back stacks of folders and crashing entire computers to the ground. Guns were drawn, and blind potshots were taken out the windows and the main door. A massive flurry of bullets came to respond to every single shot the officers fired.

The naive part of Shayne had wanted to believe that this was going to be a one and done drive-by shooting. Empty out their magazines into the building then get the fuck away before police could mount a pursuit. Naturally, when firepower like _that_ was just unleashed, they weren’t playing around. This wasn’t a hit and run. This was an assault which the officers had to turn into a defensive siege.

“Topp!”

Shayne swiveled his head to see Detective Raub’s rattled form up on one knee, head low. His voice was just barely reaching Shayne through the ringing of his ears. He jerked his hand back in command to follow him. The back of the precinct was undoubtedly safer-

Oh fuck, the back.

“Raub, they’re gonna try coming in from the back!” Shayne yelled over the gunfire. Just the same, he knew going deeper into the precinct meant being out of the line of fire. Anywhere was better than the frontline of the assault. Shayne took a knee, clambering off of Courtney’s body as his restraints rattled in protest. Courtney took his lead and got up on one knee as well, leaving her head low as the din of gunfire continued to snap into the building. She looked around in horror at the gory carnage the initial wave of gunfire wrought.

“We’ll deal with that, but for now I gotta get you into a holding cell, and Courtney and the other civilians out of the pen!” Raub’s tone left little room for argument, and Shayne was forced to comply for the time being.

Shayne shuffled closer to Courtney, hand rubbing along her arm to bring her attention back to him and away from the bloodshed. He lowered his head to meet her bleary eyes.

“Hey, Court – hey, you with me?”

Courtney’s eyes locked onto his, and she soon blinked him back into focus. The lucidity shined through in her irises, and a sense of determination settled into her brow as she gave a nod.

“Go,” Shayne said with a tilt of his head in the detective’s direction, “I won’t be far.”

Raub straightened up a fraction as he began to holler at the bullpen to get any civilians to the back of the room. Courtney crawled over to the opening of the hallways leading to the back. She let out a sharp grunt when she lost her footing and scraped her arms along some broken glass on the ground. Courtney recovered with a little assistance from Shayne before they both came to a kneel behind the detective

Raub called out, “I want two officers to peel off with me now!”

Soon enough, a small crowd of five unarmed people wormed their way over to their group amidst the continual rain of bullets. The officers Raub requested arrived as well while the others provided covering fire. Raub turned down the hallway, motioning for them to follow. He straightened up slightly as he walked now that they were clear of the windows. Shayne struggled to keep up with the rapid pace they took. The shackles on his feet both weighed him down and restricted the strides he could take.

Raub stopped by one door as he nodded at the other officers. The two began leading the civilians down another hall. Shayne narrowed his eyes as they rounded the corner. Courtney came to an abrupt stop, causing the officer at the back to bump into her. She frowned at Raub as she demanded, “Matt what-”

“Courtney, there’s no time!” The detective’s harsh voice cut her off as Courtney was roughly escorted down the hall. Shayne glared at Raub as he was shoved into the holding area. The dimly lit room housed several vacant holding cells.

“Detective, let me go,” Shayne said in a low voice that fell on deaf ears. With a rough hand around his elbow, he dragged Shayne into the closest holding cell. The door clanged shut with an unceremonious bang, painfully isolating Shayne from Courtney and the rest of the precinct. His hands wrapped around the cold steel bars as the detective locked the steel gate in place. Shayne levelled his now feral gaze at Raub as he snarled, “People are gonna fucking die, Raub. I can help stop them. Let me out.”

The panic rose to his chest late, as it usually did for him when gunfire started snapping close by. Whenever a roadside improvised explosive device went off by Shayne’s convoys overseas, his cool head took over.

That utter clarity filled his mind, and he directed his men with pinpoint precision. He returned fire to the attacking enemy with brutal efficiency. It wouldn’t be until minutes after the initial kickoff that the fried nerves would set in. His hands got clammy with sweat. The frazzled thoughts came up to the surface. His legs felt weak beneath him. From there, he had to dig deep to muster the discipline and mental strength to keep his head cool. His men counted on him and he owed them nothing less than his best.

Shayne dealt with it now as he always had. When a calm head didn’t do the trick, he got pissed off instead and dealt with the problem head on. He allowed the anger to rise and overcome the panic. He was a rat in a cage, and Courtney was out of sight where he couldn’t do a goddamn thing to help her.

“Detective!” Shayne yelled as the man approached the exit, “I’m your only shot at pushing these assholes back!”

Raub gripped the doorknob but craned his head back to look at Shayne, “Orders are orders, Topp. Just hold tight. SWAT will be here soon.”

“Detective!”

The door slammed shut with a bang, and any argument Shayne had died on his lips. With a scowl, he pushed off of the bars. He began to pace as much as any prisoner in shackles could pace. The deep pit in his stomach rumbled and grew now that he was out of the line of fire. The thundering beat of his heart climbed back up to his ears, swirling in with the irritating ringing. Shayne was reminded of the graze on his right arm. The burning sting returned in force, amplifying now that the initial adrenaline rush wore off. Shayne awkwardly raised his restraints to press a hand to it and slow the bleeding.

He needed to get out of here. These officers were trained to shoot at targets, hell – maybe some them had even been in small firefights before. But they were no SWAT team. None of them had the training or experience to handle a shitstorm of this caliber. Fuck – if the firepower of the initial wave was any indicator, even the NYPD’s SWAT would have a hard time with these guys. That sounded and _felt_ like a mounted machinegun tearing into the building. No wonder his prison escorts were dead. Those wimpy vests could stop smaller rounds, sure.

But these were not smaller rounds.

Shayne’s frantic pacing stopped back by the doors. He pressed his forehead to the cool bars of his cell as he struggled to tune in to the gunfire. After the initial volley, they were likely to switch over to their rifles and submachineguns while they tried to storm the building. Whoever _they_ were, anyway.

The familiar sound of a helicopter’s powerful blades cut through the gunfire. This was good. This meant NYPD was moving units into place to deal with the threat. Shayne got his hopes up for all of two seconds before a massive boom rang out in the distance. A deafening silence followed for a few long moments before a distant crash shook the ground. His eyes widened, and he opened his mouth to call out for the detective.

A second, louder resounding boom rocked the building, much closer and far more direct than the last. Shayne gripped the cell bars with shaking hands to stay upright. His insides stirred in an unpleasant sensation from the shockwave of the not at all distant explosion. It was official. These shitbags were packing Rocket Propelled Grenades, and they weren’t fucking playing around.

He had to get out. He had to get to Courtney.

The only thing stronger than the panic and anger in his chest was the fear swirling in his gut. This was the second time Courtney’s life was put on the line because of him. It wasn’t even like the first, when she was a direct target. This time, she could’ve just gotten hit in the barrage of gunfire that was too fucking reminiscent of Central Park.

The prospect of her senseless death was unacceptable.

It would not stand.

If they survived this shit, he needed to grow a pair and walk away. Courtney couldn’t keep digging into the truth and kicking the hornet’s nest. It was going to be the end of her at the rate this was escalating. He couldn’t lose her too.

Courtney couldn’t have a say in it this time. Shayne wasn’t going to allow her to throw her life away for a shit magnet like him who had an expiration date. He felt as though he’d signed his death certificate a long time ago. Sometime between the first few IED blasts that went off way too close, and the bullets meant for him that struck his brothers-in-arms. This was a long time coming.

Bell was wrong.

There was no _after_ for him. There was no goddamn pot of gold at the end of the shit-stained rainbow. His entire life was a highway to hell. There was no light at the end of the tunnel for people like him. Not after everything he’d done – all the people he’d killed for flag or for vengeance.

It was about time he accepted that fact.

The Punisher didn’t get a happy ending. Another bullet to the head to put him out of his misery was what he deserved. Maybe then he could finally see Nicole and Lizzy without the cryptic dreams and twisted nightmares.

Courtney needed to be as far away from him as possible when that inevitable day came.

Shayne grit his teeth as he wallowed in the desperation and the self-pity and the white-hot anger. He opened his mouth to yell – whether to let out the frustration or to call for the detective, he wasn’t sure himself.

The door swung open and slammed carelessly against the wall. Raub stumbled into the room, a Kevlar vest pulled over his bloodstained white button down. He had a rifle slung across his body. The detective’s face was contorted into an expression of agony as he steadied himself on the doorframe. It was immediately apparent to Shayne what was wrong.

The man’s left thumb was mangled, barely hanging on by a few scraps of flesh. He leaned against the door frame, head swiveling towards Shayne then back out at the precinct. With the door open, he could hear the mess around them more clearly. The gunfire pouring _into_ the precinct lost the vigor of the first onslaught. That wasn’t to say it was any less deadly. It simply meant they switched from mounted emplacements to mobile firearms. Meanwhile, the gunfire _from_ the bullpen was popping off more rapidly, indicating they got their hands on better weapons than their handguns.

The open door also meant he could hear the officers crying out in pain as they took more and more losses.

“I’m hit! Fuck! I’m hit-”

“Shit! Officer down!”

Shayne’s heart sank as he said, “Raub, let me outta here,”

“Quiet, Topp,” The detective panted, eyes locked down at his ruined hand that freely dripped blood onto the ground. “We just gotta – just gotta hold out until SWAT gets here.”

“Raub,” Shayne growled, “They just shot down a helicopter. Those assholes are packing RPGs. They’re gonna blow this whole building apart.”

There was another horribly pained cry from the entrance, followed by a panicked voice announcing, “Officer down!”

“Topp,” Raub warned through his teeth as he started to fashion a tourniquet for his hand.

“Detective, this is what I was trained to do. Let me help your men,” Shayne shook the door to his cell, “None of your officers are trained for this. I am.”

Raub looked up at him with pained eyes. His mouth parted to retort but was cut off by another sickening yell from the bullpen.

“Fuck! Jerry’s – oh God – fuck! Officer down!”

Raub’s head smacked back against the doorframe and he finally nodded in defeat. He approached Shayne with his keys out. Shayne took a moment to thank his stars that the cuffs and shackles that Rikers used were the standard run off the mill type. It was the prison system’s best kept secret. All the damn restraints had the same generic lock and key, save for some exceptions.

The cell door swung open, and Raub strained his hands in the effort to undo Shayne’s chains. The adrenaline of the fight to come was starting to seep back into Shayne’s veins. His sweaty, shaking hands grew steady. The stinging of his right arm subsided. That vague feeling of lightheadedness was setting in, along with the clarity it brought. The puzzle pieces of the precinct’s siege were locking into place.

“How many officers we got at the front? Back? Second floor?”

“Cleared out the second floor,” Raub managed to hiss out through the pain, “About thirteen guys or less at the front now and four at the back.”

“Courtney? Where is she?”

“Armory,” The detective answered as the last of his restraints were undone. Shayne rubbed his sore wrists as he stepped past Matt and out of the cell.

With fire in his eyes, Shayne demanded, “Take me to her.”

Detective Raub brushed past him with unsteady strides. He held onto the rifle’s grip with his good hand, while the bloodied one limply supported the handguard at the front. They took a turn down the dimly lit halls as the gunfire in the bullpen continued to blaze on.

“Jesus, detective, you need to take care of that,” Shayne found himself muttering as they approached the armory door.

“Yeah, no shit, Topp,” Raub grunted.

Shayne reached for the door to save the detective the trouble of doing so. The detective bumped him out of the way with his shoulder, earning a confused glare from Shayne.

“What?”

“I told Courtney to blast through the door if we didn’t call out first,” Matt panted out, before raising his voice, “Courtney, it’s us! We’re coming in!”

Shayne felt the quiet laugh slip out of his lips before he could reel it in. Because, _of course_ Atomic Blonde was behind the door, ready to open a can of whoop ass to protect the other civvies.

In response to Matt’s voice, the door cracked open a smidge to reveal the barrel of a Mossberg pump shotgun, and a pair of wide, alert green eyes. The recognition crossed her features, and she opened the door fully, finger off the trigger and muzzle pointed down.

There was just something about the combination of Courtney’s current look. Her radiant blonde hair now tied into a loose and messy bun. Her somewhat disheveled legal getup. The bulletproof vest she traded her blazer for. And of course, the loaded shotgun in her hands. She was so inexplicably attractive.

With a gulp down his dry throat, he knocked the thought the fuck out of his head and got back to business.

“Hey,” He greeted dumbly as she stood to the side to allow them to enter.

Shayne assumed that Courtney didn’t miss the brief look he wore when he accidentally ogled her. With mischievous eyes, she cracked a smile, “Glad you could join us.”

The immediate entrance to the armory proper was blocked off from the rest of the room. A counter fenced the entrance off from the weapons beyond. Normally, this desk would be where an officer asked the guy in charge for a weapon after filling out all the paperwork. Now, Shayne watched as Courtney stepped through the open chain-link door to sit behind it, shotgun at the ready. In the actual armory cordoned off by the desk, the rest of the civilians were huddling together in panic. The walls were lined with racks of simple armored vests, handguns, shotguns, rifles, and a few submachineguns.

Shayne dropped his damaged suit jacket and tie to the ground then got to work. He marched in and grabbed the first tactical vest he could, strapping it on with practiced hands. It wouldn’t stop much more than a handgun, but it was better than nothing. The vest’s pouches were quickly filled with magazines for the Glock he snatched, and then the M4A1 rifle he picked out.

He kept his load lighter than he would if he went with a full kit. Shayne listened to the clarity that eased into his mind. Going full _Punisher_ might just endanger everyone in the station. There were armed officers who knew how to take orders, and he needed to use that to their advantage. He had to organize them into a proper defense. Actual fighting could take the backseat for him until he was forced to act.

Shayne loaded and chambered the two weapons, holstering the pistol, and letting the rifle hang by its sling. The civilians watched him with no shortage of concern or alarm. He was, after all, The Punisher arming himself for a fight. He stopped by Courtney’s side on the way out.

Courtney had been by her post behind the desk the entire time, shotgun trained at the door. Shayne set his hand on her shoulder to give her a reassuring squeeze. Even if it would just make it harder to walk away from her and push her back once this was all over.

For lack of anything profound or comforting to say, Shayne gave her a small smile, “Take care, Court.”

Courtney narrowed her eyes at him in that way she did when she wanted to call him out on his bullshit.

Right. He was telling _her_ to take care before he threw himself into the fray.

Courtney appeared to mercifully spare him her quick wit that he knew would cut him down. She settled on a small smile right back, “You too.”

Shayne allowed himself a greedy second or two to just take her image in. He drew strength from her. From her messy blonde bun and her beautiful smile, to the black Kevlar vest and the locked and loaded shotgun in her hands. An aura of confidence and determination emanated from her. He knew she was scared underneath it all, but that hardly mattered. The essence of bravery was the willingness and ability to act despite the fear. Courtney was a goddamn fighter, and he’d never been prouder.

Finding his resolve cemented, Shayne stepped past her. He jumped in alarm when her hand came to slap him on the ass as he passed. Shayne turned his wide, scandalized eyes to Courtney. She wore that mischievous smile on her face. Courtney kept it light as she said, “Go get ‘em, tiger.”

Some people froze under the stress of battle. Some entered a frenzy, endangering themselves and others. Some ran for the hills. Some joked and quipped and annoyed the hell out of everyone to cope. Shayne had a few jokers back in his platoon. Hell – if he weren’t stuck in a leadership role, he would’ve been a joker too. God knows he made half the base laugh, and the other half beg him to shut up when they weren’t out in the field. He was notorious for his impressions and his stupid jokes.

The fact that Courtney toyed with him like this to ease the tension was just fitting. He shouldn’t have expected anything less.

He settled on fixing Courtney with a fond eye roll before putting his serious face back on. Shayne stepped ahead towards the detective, who guarded the door. Raub had taken the time to fully secure a tourniquet to his hand using his necktie and a pen. He looked like hell, and that thumb wasn’t going to make it if this battle went on for too long. But he’d live.

“Watch out for them, detective.”

Matt gave him a pained nod of acknowledgement, good hand still steady on his rifle’s grip. It was good enough for Shayne. With a final, longing glance at Courtney, he filed out of the armory.

He kept low as he ran towards the back entrance of the precinct first. After a turn or two down the dark precinct’s halls, he found the grisly scene.

The back entrance was a small room with two shattered windows and a door partially blocked by filing cabinets. There was an overturned coffee table accompanied by a number of discarded chairs lying about. Blood caked the white walls. Intermingling with the bodies of fallen officers on the ground were two that lacked police uniforms. Instead, these two wore the all-black garb of a Mexican Cartel hit squad. Shayne recognized their getup. He’d put a small group of these guys in the dirt last month. These men were sent up all the way from Juarez. They weren’t regular drug slingers and hired guns. They did hits for the Cartel for a living.

The familiar red haze flickered into his vision. These assholes had a hand in his family’s massacre.

The four officers on the scene were in the process of barricading the back door with more filing cabinets. They were armed with an assortment of shotguns and pistols. Bulletproof vests were hastily secured to their bodies, a strap or two loose here and there. Sporadic gunfire popped in from the windows, chipping at the walls. At the sound of Shayne skidding to a stop from his hurried arrival, they turned to face him.

Realization crossed their frightened faces, and the guns came up in a rush to point at him.

“Holy shit, it’s Topp!”

“Topp, hands up!”

Shayne raised his hands up as a gesture of peace but fixed his steely eyes on them.

“You wanna point those guns at me, or you wanna point ‘em at those Cartel assholes killing your friends?”

The silence was answer enough that they didn’t want to plug him right away. They exchanged a few uncertain glances amongst themselves. Shayne continued.

“C’mon, you can throw me in the cell later. If you wanna survive long enough to lock me up, let me help.” Shayne’s steady gaze travelled to each of them.

After a moment of tension, their guns dropped. Shayne imagined he owed Courtney for this one too. The article she wrote garnered a lot of sympathy for him. They might have just cuffed him and left him on the ground otherwise. He wouldn’t let all of Courtney’s hard work go to waste then. All of these people were making it home alive if it was the last thing he did.

Shayne put on an authoritative voice, “You three, get that barricade finished!” The trio he pointed at flinched at the sudden sharpness in his voice. They gave some scattered nods in response and resumed barricading the door. Shayne pointed at the woman in the group who seemed the most collected, “You, come with me!”

Shayne ignored the doubt and unease on the officer’s face as she stepped up to stand before him. “Name?” Shayne asked.

“Uh – Pearson,” The woman blinked in surprise at the question.

“Officer Pearson, you’re leading the rear defense, got it?” Shayne waited for her nod, “Are these offices?” He motioned to the two doors just down the hall.

“Yeah, yeah they are.” Officer Pearson gave a deliberate nod of her head.

Shayne marched off, and Officer Pearson fell in line after a brief moment’s hesitation. He all but kicked the door open in his urgency, finding a small, messy office. A hardy steel desk cluttered with paperwork and a laptop caught his eye. He turned back to Officer Pearson and explained.

“Work in pairs. Two people hold security on the windows at all times. The other two bring these desks out into the hall and turn them over for cover,” Shayne stepped back out of the room and motioned to the other office, then the spot by their feet, “Once that’s all set, you take cover by the desks and you turn the rear entrance into a kill zone, got it?”

“Y-yeah,” Officer Pearson stammered, “Got it.”

“You work as a team, okay? Four of you are gonna be in a line by those desks. Two on the left shoot from nine to twelve o’clock, the two on the right shoot from twelve to three o’clock,” Shayne’s hands gestured to the fire sectors, “Got it?”

“Got it, Topp.”

“Atta girl, Officer.”

Not wasting a second, Shayne broke off into a run down the hall as Officer Pearson took charge. He retraced his steps and followed the steady bursts of gunfire to find the bullpen, where the carnage was the worst. It was looking bloodier by the minute. The thick haze of gun smoke in the air had doubled, and Shayne had to blink back the dampness that formed in his stinging eyes.

A small fire had started in one corner next to a sizeable rubble-strewn hole in the wall. That was undoubtedly where the RPG exploded. Shayne grimly noted that a distinct lack of severed body parts meant nobody was harmed by that explosion. Still, more police officers lied limp on the ground as they fought back the offense.

The remaining men and women were scattered throughout the bullpen; Shayne counted ten left. Hefty tables all around had been flipped over to use as makeshift cover. They popped out sporadically to fire almost blindly out the windows and the main door. Gunfire was steadily tearing into the room and digging into the solid wall at the back. The Cartel’s firepower had diminished after the initial volley, but it was clear they still had fire superiority. In all forms of battle, both offensive and defensive, fire superiority was crucial. If they kept it up, the station would be overpowered as the officers got picked off and gave way to a full-frontal assault.

Shayne’s mind raced through the options at hand, and the considerations he had to take. They needed to group up and set up effective fireteams. Right now, all the officers were managing was wild suppressive fire. None of them had dared to go near the windows to avoid the risk of getting shot – even if those were the most effective fighting positions with their current strength.

Then Shayne remembered the RPG blasting into the precinct. Building Clearing 101 was that you didn’t go through a door or a window. You have your big guns blow a giant hole into the structure to facilitate a safer breach and clear. Doors and windows were like funnels of death. If he had to guess, the Cartel tried blowing a hole into the wall, but the explosive missed and fired _into_ the station instead. The question was if they had more where that came from.

Shayne grit his teeth. There was no use worrying about another RPG blast if they’d just get shot to pieces by the overwhelming automatic barrage of bullets anyway. Shayne took matters into his own hands to assess the enemy’s strength. Keeping low, he rushed into the bullpen. He stepped over fallen bodies, vaulted over some desks, rolled over others, until he hit his back flat on the wall next to a shattered window.

He was aware he’d gotten the attention of the officers in the room with his mad dash. They were all too busy taking potshots at the Cartel or hiding behind cover to do anything. Shayne took the time to peek out the window to survey the enemy.

Two black vans were parked in the middle of the street, with the back doors wide open. Two mounted machineguns were unmanned and out of ammo in the vans. Several more black vans were parked along with them. They served as cover and formed a defensive perimeter. The smoldering wreckage of an NYPD helicopter continued to burn farther down the street. A whole army of Cartel guys busied themselves firing into the building.

They’d grown cocky and stood out in the open. All the police had managed so far was blind fire going out. They had yet to setup a proper fighting position to challenge the Cartel. Shayne counted over thirty that he could see, all packing some form of automatic weaponry. As he scanned the group, his eyes locked onto the big guy packing the RPG. He was in the process of loading a fresh rocket in.

Before the man could prepare the weapon for firing, sirens began to cut through the gunfire. The Cartel was quick to take notice, heads turning to either side of the street. SWAT was making their arrival in a pincer attack, but Shayne had a bad feeling the hitmen were prepared for this.

Shayne decided to take advantage of the brief ceasefire to address the officers. They appeared to have the same idea, as one of them called out to him, “Topp, put the fucking gun down!”

He let out a frustrated huff as he turned to the direction of the voice, “You wanna start with me, or you wanna fight these assholes?!”

“Topp, get back to your cell!” Another voice came from across the bullpen.

“I’ve been doing this for nine and a half goddamn years! You want my help or not?!” Shayne yelled.

Officer Martin’s voice called out from across the room, “C’mon, guys, we can cuff him later! Now’s not the time! We need every pair of hands we can get!”

Shayne peeked back out the window as Officer Martin argued on his behalf. His heart hammered in his chest when the man with the RPG levelled his weapon at the approaching SWAT truck.

Shayne raised his rifle up to the window and hoped that the officers in the room wouldn’t plug him in the back.

But he was too late.

The rocket shot out from the RPG just as Shayne fired three rounds into the man to drop him. The rocket sailed through the air with a trail of grey smoke and found its target. The van went up in flames with an earsplitting explosion. Shayne ducked as debris sprayed out in all directions at a deadly velocity. Miscellaneous shrapnel peppered the far wall of the bullpen. The burning wreckage of the truck came careening to a halt not far from the Cartel’s perimeter.

The second SWAT truck on the opposite end of the street skid to a stop as one of the black vans opened up. The doors revealed another mounted machinegun that began to unload with a vengeance at the truck.

Shayne turned his head back to the officers in the room, who looked decidedly less argumentative now.

“Well?!” Shayne barked.

“What’s the play, Topp?” One of them called out.

“I want four men, teams of two! Split off and take the left and right windows. Work in teams, distribute your targets from nine to twelve, and twelve to three,” Shayne took a breath and continued, “I want another desk by Officer Martin, and another man to join him – focus fire at the front door. Save your ammo and pick your targets.”

“Last four, on me, we’re going upstairs!” Shayne peeked out the window to see the Cartel reorganizing and splitting their forces to fight the remaining SWAT truck and the precinct, “I’m gonna start shooting, and when I do, I want those fireteams in position, and the four out in the hallway!”

When the officers were silent for a moment too long, Shayne raised his voice in a commanding bellow, “Am I clear?!”

“You heard the man, boys!” Officer Martin called, breaking the officers out of the stupor.

“Ready, Topp!”

Shayne clenched his jaw and steeled himself. He took several sharp breaths and drew a fresh magazine from his pouch, setting it on the windowsill. He wrapped his fingers around the rifle’s vertical foregrip and swung from cover. His rifle fired in short, lethal bursts. Shayne watched with satisfaction as two Cartel gunmen standing in the open hit the ground hard. They’d grown complacent from the precinct’s blind, unprepared covering fire. This was the first time they’d been shot at directly. It wouldn’t be the last.

The Cartel’s men began to scramble for cover in earnest as Shayne picked off another two men with precise shooting. His rifle gave an empty click, and he ejected the magazine onto the ground. With practiced hands, he jammed the next mag into place and yanked the charging handle back with barely a pause in his shooting. His steady barrages of bullets peppered the Cartel soldiers until they finally got into cover behind their vans and the other vehicles abandoned on the street.

Halfway through the second magazine, Shayne glanced back at the officers. True enough, they got into position as he instructed. Two men closer to him by the windows on the left of the door. Two men by the windows to the right. The second desk was now propped up for cover, and Officer Martin was joined by another shooter. The four were by the hallway. That was his cue.

“Moving!” Shayne announced and ducked as gunfire peppered through the window he’d been using. He stayed low, racing across the bullpen and coming to a hard stop by the four at the end of the room.

His eyes flicked across the three men and one woman gathered before him. Their expressions were about as alarmed and frazzled as ever, but a new determination was set in to match it. He gave the crew a firm nod, and asked, “Stairs?”

“This way, Topp.” One of them spoke up and took the lead. Shayne and the rest followed him down the hall and up a flight of stairs. When they got to the second floor, the officer turned a corner and led them to the area above the bullpen below.

It was a larger, open office area, similar to the entrance downstairs. Numerous windows lined the walls, mostly in good condition. Shayne gave an approving hum, then gave the designations, “Same deal, work in teams of two and split the field – pick your targets. You have the better position up here. If you can, focus on high priority targets – guys with machineguns, explosives, that sort of stuff.”

After a beat, Shayne added, “One of you is gonna be the runner – in case your ammo goes dry, you go to the armory and fetch more ammo while the rest keep up the firepower. Be sure to call out to Courtney before opening the door.”

One of the men spoke up after a moment’s thought, “I could do that.”

“Good, now get into place. Go!” Shayne spoke with the sharp bite of the staff sergeant he’d been trained to be. The officers hastily assumed their positions, breaking the windows and taking aim at the Cartel hitmen below. The satisfying crack of their weapons filled the second-floor office, as the officers made the most of their superior vantage point. Shayne took that as his mark to head back downstairs. He began making the rounds to make sure they were all keeping the siege defense in place.

Shayne had to stay low as he approached the rear entrance. Gunfire sporadically burst into the entry hall, but the defenders remained resolute. He approached Officer Pearson and instructed her to assign a runner, similar to what he told the team upstairs. They had to yell over the gunfire while her fireteams efficiently but conservatively returned fire as the Cartel tried to enter through the windows.

Satisfied with their end, Shayne hightailed it back to the bullpen. They had to setup fallback measures next. The long corridor past the bullpen was the perfect kill zone. Shayne hollered for Officer Martin to send his buddy over to lend him a hand. After doing so, Officer Martin called on the fireteams to keep an extra eye on the stairs leading to the main door, just in case.

Together, Shayne and the officer dragged two steel desks out into the hall and flipped them over. With those defenses in place, they had a fallback position for if things went south. With a glance down the other end of the hall, Shayne figured the next fallback point would be the stairs leading to the next floor. He then instructed the officer by his side, Officer Bunch, to relay the instructions to the rest of the fireteams.

Shayne took the stairs up two at a time and nearly bumped into their team’s runner. With haste, he gave the officer the rundown of the fallback position. If the main bullpen was compromised, they were to stack up flat against the stairwell’s wall and open fire on Cartel members that got past their second line of defense. Shayne would’ve preferred if they could fortify the stairs further, but they lacked the time for that. The kind of preparations he wanted to make were for an hours-long siege. Not one that would likely be over in under fifteen minutes.

At the moment, they managed to slow down the Cartel’s advance and regain fire superiority. They were distracted engaging the SWAT truck along with the precinct. Once that encounter was over, they’d turn their full attention back to the station, and then they’d be in trouble. At the rate this encounter was going, Shayne expected that NYPD wasn’t going to risk another unit. They were likely seeking to contain the engagement and prevent it from getting any worse. It was a delaying tactic while they got an FBI SWAT team in, or maybe even Homeland Security.

Barely ten minutes ticked by as Shayne went from floor to floor and entrance to entrance, ensuring that the officers were holding a solid line of defense. Now that they were properly split up into fireteams, their efficiency was quadrupled. The runners were making quick trips to the armory to retrieve more ammunition. They were burning through it at a quick rate. This was a target rich environment, and Shayne watched as the Cartel’s numbers were beginning to dwindle under the strength of their united defense.

The tides turned when the gunfire from the last SWAT truck died down. Through the steady cracking of bullets passing overhead, Shayne could hear one of the vans repositioning along the front line. It could only mean one thing.

“Machinegun!” One of the officers called.

“Get down!” Shayne yelled as he hit the deck.

The deafening hail of bullets poured through the windows as the Cartel swept the gun back and forth. Bullets pummeled the far wall of the bullpen, chipping concrete and sending dust into the air to intermingle with the gun smoke. With a clenched jaw, Shayne took the time to reload his light mag, swapping it for a fresh one. He checked his pouches – one left for his rifle, three for the pistol.

The suppressive fire from the machinegun’s violent torrent of bullets served to cover their advance. It was a classic tactic. It was made worse by the fact they were hurling smoke grenades in through the windows and the main door. They’d chipped away at their attackers’ numbers. The Cartel had no choice but to push on in a final gambit, or risk outside intervention again now that they were weakened. The Cartel was going to storm the building.

They were sitting ducks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading 'til the end! Lemme know how you liked this one! Shayne's put on his staff sergeant's cap! Will he trade it in for his Punisher skull to protect the precinct? Will he keep wallowing like a self-sacrifing asshole and push Courtney away? Stay tuned to find out! As usual, I did light research for this. Read up on some infantry manuals to get an idea of how a platoon would go about fortifying and defending a position. I tried to reflect that in Shayne's thought processes and subsequent taking charge of the defense. I hoped you like seeing this side of his character as a leader, and Courtney's butt slap to him on the way out. I'll catch you guys and gals in the next update.


	16. Make it Count

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Courtney pleads. Shayne takes matters into his own hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Goes without saying, but graphic violence ahead.

Loud pops erupted from the canister-like grenades on the bloodstained tile floor. Thick plumes of dark smoke burst forth, filling the air and obscuring the bullpen. The thunderous crack of the machinegun’s suppressive fire relentlessly bore into the building.

“Fall back!” Shayne shouted over the gunfire, “Fall back to the next line!”

He crawled on all fours with practiced movements that were second nature to him. Lord knows he’d crawled away from heavy gunfire like this a dozen times by now. Shayne’s sleeves were torn open by the shards of glass scattered on the floor. The fine, sharp bits and pieces dug into his skin, but he hardly felt it. With his heart pounding up into his ears, and the deadly torrent firing in, the small wounds were inconsequential.

The rounds were still pinging furiously overhead by the time he reached the exit into the hall. Shayne took a knee, head low as the smoke steadily blocked off his sight into the bullpen. He trained his rifle into the progressively growing smoke that crowded the room. One by one, the officers tumbled out of the smoke. They pushed themselves up from the hasty crawl they took. The men and women were rattled, but decidedly in one piece. Shayne took in each of their appearances as they passed. None of them had sustained anything worse than a graze. He patted each of them on the back to usher them into place towards their second line.

The steady roar of the machinegun came to an abrupt halt, leaving an uneasy silence in its wake. The quiet was only pierced by the ringing in all their ears, and the hiss of the smoke grenades. Shayne squinted through the dark smoke as the anxiety seeped into his bones. All of them made it to the second line, save for Officer Martin. The urge to charge through the smoke and search for the man was strong – Hell, that was the sort of instinct he’d honed across his nine and a half years of service. But he had to play it smart for now. He needed to ensure the rest of the officers survived the push.

As the vague sound of footsteps by the entrance broke through the high-pitched whine in their ears, Shayne pulled back to the next defensive line with the rest of the men. He hopped over the table and shouldered his rifle in anticipation. “Confirm your targets, we don’t want to hit Officer Martin!” Shayne ordered.

They didn’t have to wait long as the overconfident Cartel soldiers pushed in. They appeared through the smoke and looked almost surprised to see the six guns pointed downrange. Their weapons didn’t have the chance to take aim. The rapid snaps of automatic gunfire ripped into the Cartel soldiers. The bark of a shotgun’s buckshot was deafening in the enclosed space, but nevertheless aided in decimating the Cartel’s push. By the time their weapons clicked empty, the Mexicans ceased their advance.

With shaking but determined hands, fresh magazines clicked into place, new shells were loaded into receivers. Unfortunately for them, the Cartel packed extra smoke grenades. Two small canisters rolled down the hall and gave out sharp pops as the dense smoke began to crowd the corridor. Shayne growled under his breath. He hadn’t considered being smoked and pushed like this, let alone twice in a row.

It was time he dealt with them head on. He didn’t want to risk the officers here. The hallway was a kill zone on either end, depending on who pressed the advantage. With the smoke obscuring their vision, the enemy definitely had the advantage.

Shayne got the attention of his fireteams and motioned to either of the offices that their desks were propped by, “I’m gonna see what I can do. Keep the doors open a crack. Hold fire until a couple Cartel guys get past your doors, then hit them with a crossfire. Got it? I’ll get them from the back.”

He was met with firm nods all around, and they broke off into the two offices, out of sight. Shayne ducked into one office and traded in his rifle and one mag for an officer’s fully loaded shotgun. His back hit the white wall with a soft thud. A light tap against the surface confirmed what he’d been banking on; the interior offices used drywall.

With quiet steps, he inched along the sides of the office, listening for movement in the hall. The Cartel appeared to fire a volley of bullets before they made their advance. Shayne bid his time as the group pushed into the hallway. He had to press his ringing ear to the wall to get a better beat on their deadly approach. Shayne stopped when he fell in step with the rearguard’s movements.

Finally, the Cartel soldier at the front entered the officers’ lines of sight out the barely opened doors. The crack of their rifles alerted the hit squad as several men were immediately gunned down. Shayne stepped back from the drywall and raised the shotgun up to head level. With a powerful bang, the wall exploded with a shower of dust and brain matter. Shayne pumped the weapon and took a step to the side, aiming low.

The buckshot shredded the wall, and a cry of pain rang out as he pumped the weapon again. The Cartel soldier’s head smashed through the drywall from the force of his fall. Shayne grabbed him by the collar and tugged him through the broken plaster. He stepped to the side, back into concealment behind the drywall. The crippled Cartel hitman fell to the ground hard as he cradled his destroyed kneecap. Shayne drew his Glock to swiftly execute the downed man with a shot to the head. He took a knee and holstered the pistol just as a spray of bullets peppered through the thin wall.

This was the first Cartel hitman today Shayne got a real close look at – save for the dead ones by the rear entrance. As he suspected, they were packing soft Kevlar. It was a similar grade as to what he and the officers were wearing. Enough to stop handgun rounds at medium range but were useless against anything faster and bigger. It’s a good thing the officers were tearing them apart with buckshot and the ever reliable 5.56mm rounds. Bad news was that this was going to be a pain in the ass when Shayne closed the distance.

Shayne aimed high for center mass and fired. An agonized howl came out, followed by a solid thud. Shayne rolled to his side as another spray of bullets tore through the drywall. With a pump of his shotgun, he went ham, blowing the drywall to bits, along with whoever else was on the other side. Satisfied with the damage he unleashed, Shayne pressed the advantage. He charged through the remains of the wall and straight into the obscured, smoky din of confused Cartel members.

Save for the shredded bodies slumped across the expanse of the hall, there was only one Cartel soldier present. He couldn’t see the rest of them at the moment as they took fire in the smoke from the officers in concealment. For now, it was time he used their own damn smoke against them.

Shayne crashed into the first man, using his shotgun to drive him into the opposite wall by the neck. He pinned the gunman’s weapon to his chest, rendering it useless as it discharged several rounds and chipped the floor tiles. Shayne’s elbow smashed into his face in a devastating strike. He extended his foot out as he eased up on the force. The change in balance, and his firmly planted foot, had the man stumbling straight to the ground in a clumsy heap. Shayne dropped the empty shotgun and drew his pistol. The grounded Cartel hitman was put down with a precise shot to the head.

That clarity of action was back home in his head. He was in his element here, like a hunter stalking through the smoke. Despite the high-pitched whining in his ears, he could make out the unmistakable approach of a Cartel gunman. He was retreating from the police’s kill box. Shayne lowered to a crouch just as a few bullets cracked overhead. His hands instinctually raised the gun up to where he expected the man’s center mass to be.

A silhouette broke from the smoke, close enough for Shayne to make it out. Out of reflex, Shayne squeezed the trigger thrice, momentarily forgetting about the body armor they were packing. It was a shooting drill ingrained in his mind and his hands. Two to the body, one to the head. The Cartel member doubled over in pain from the two shots pummeling into his chest, causing the headshot to miss. Shayne course corrected and popped his fourth shot right in the forehead.

Shayne pushed himself back up to stand and advanced. He kept his Glock raised and pointed into the thick smoke surrounding him. His eyes were watering from the stinging sensation, but he paid it no mind. He could make out shapes and outlines, and it was all he needed.

Another panic-stricken Cartel hitman retreated from the rapid gunfire ahead, straight into Shayne. His Glock came up as he stepped off angle to avoid a collision. Aiming for the head was something Shayne avoided whenever he took the first shot, especially in close quarters. It was just too easy to miss a small target like that. His pistol cracked thrice, and the bullets pounded into the hitman’s Kevlar as Shayne swept his foot forward. The hitman toppled to the ground with a painful crash. He pushed himself up on a single elbow before his head snapped back with a splatter of blood. Shayne turned his attention and his gun back to the fray ahead.

Two silhouettes broke from the smoke and trailed in his direction. The clarity in Shayne’s mind allowed him to evaluate the tactical decision in milliseconds. They were retreating his way at a rapid pace. He could gun down the one farther back to neutralize his danger as a ranged threat. The closer one was too near to shoot without risking a miss because he was barreling in fast. He’d have to engage him head on.

Shayne risked a precious half second to take aim at the man in the rear. With a quiet breath, Shayne squeezed the trigger and snapped the man’s head back with a precise shot. The second nearly rammed straight into him. He tried to shoulder his submachinegun, only for Shayne to seize it by the barrel and point it up. A spray of bullets fired, ricocheting and pinging off the ceiling. Shayne jammed the muzzle of his pistol into the man’s chest. At point-blank, the soft Kevlar was rendered useless.

The two shots Shayne fired tore into the vest, shredding the tightly wound fabric and plowing into his ribcage. With a pained yell, the Cartel soldier dropped his submachinegun. Shayne deftly turned and bent low, hooking his elbow under the man’s arm, and securing his hand with the other. With the straightening of his knees and a powerful heave, Shayne executed a swift shoulder throw.

The hitman’s bones gave a painful creak as he crashed into the unforgiving ground. Shayne knocked his knee against the Cartel soldier’s arm, which he still secured with one hand. He forced the groaning man onto his stomach where he couldn’t fight back. Hearing the rush of footsteps behind him, Shayne twisted his torso and discharged several rounds at the approaching silhouette.

The first couple dug into the vest, sending the guy toppling to the ground in pain. The third shot ensured he didn’t get back up. With the approaching threat neutralized, Shayne finished off his current quarry with a round to the back of the head.

Shayne was grateful for the Glock’s high capacity as he ejected the empty magazine. With a sharp flick of his wrist, he sent the magazine sailing to the side. Shayne loaded a fresh one in and flicked down on the slide stop to chamber the next bullet.

A bang rang out as a numbing pain spread through Shayne’s shoulder and the force had him stumbling back. A light splatter of blood painted the grisly walls with more crimson.

Fuck.

Shayne dropped himself to the ground and scrambled over to the closest overturned desk as more rounds snapped dangerously close by. A quick swipe at his shoulder confirmed that a bullet wedged itself in there. The last shitbag turned back to face him, rather than push deeper into the police’s kill box.

The rapid bursts of gunfire gave way to an empty click, and Shayne took his chance. With grit teeth, he ignored the fiery sensation in his shoulder. Shayne swung from cover to take aim, just as the large Cartel soldier came barreling into him.

Shayne had had enough of massive men pummeling him into the dirt. He kept the pistol close and secure to his chest and willingly allowed the man to crash into him. They hit the ground with a jarring impact, and Shayne tugged on the trigger with a fury. Blood spewed out of the large man’s back as Shayne emptied half the gun into his chest at point-blank. His aggrieved yells simmered down to a sickly death rattle. Shayne let out a pained groan of his own, now stuck for a moment under the two hundred-something pound man.

As a brief silence settled down the blood splattered corridor, the officers peeked out to survey the scene. They stepped out fully then, weapons trained at the clearing smoke. It didn’t take much before several took notice of Shayne’s dilemma.

“Give Topp a hand!” Officer Bunch motioned at two of his people. The rest took their positions by the desks, guns trained down towards the bullpen.

“Thanks,” Shayne grunted when the officers rolled the fresh cadaver off of him. One woman extended a firm hand for Shayne to take. His eyes went to her nameplate before he gladly accepted her assistance with a pained hiss at the fire in his shoulder. He rolled the wounded joint to test out its mobility once he was on his feet. Officer Fisher looked around the carnage he’d unleashed and let out a low whistle.

“Damn, Topp. You sure know how to make a mess.” She gave him a surprised, and almost amused look.

Shayne shrugged his good shoulder and turned his sheepish face away. “Yeah, kinda got a knack for it.”

Through the droning in his ears, Shayne could make out the pop of gunfire from the other side of the precinct. It only made sense that if they pushed up here, they’d try the same tactic in the rear entrance. He had to get a move on.

Shayne acknowledged he went a little too trigger happy in his frazzled state of avoiding another Mike incident. He ejected the magazine into his palm and turned it over. Half was good enough. He had two more where that came from. Shayne slid the mag back in with a firm hand.

Shayne grimaced through the cutting pain and rolled his shoulder once more. With a few steps down the hall, he turned his attention to the officers, “You’ve done a great job. All of you,” His eyes settled on each of the men and women present. The warm feeling of pride rumbled in his chest. They were outclassed and outgunned beyond belief but were holding staunchly steadfast. “Get back behind the desks. Hold this line. I’m gonna check the back.”

“Topp!” Officer Fisher called before he could sprint down the hall. She unslung the loaded rifle draped across her small, sturdy form. Its trusty heft was thrust into Shayne’s hands before he could try and turn the offer down. She then pulled the remaining magazine out of her vest and extended it to Shayne. “Last mag. Make it count, yeah?”

With a solemn nod and a loss for words, Shayne accepted the mag and tucked it into his vest. He watched Officer Fisher draw her pistol and step back to their line of defense. He gave a grateful nod and maneuvered the sling over his body as he said, “Thank you, ma’am.”

Shayne was heading down the precinct’s halls without further delay. His lungs were complaining by the time Shayne was halfway towards the back. The physical exertion of close quarter fighting – coupled with the bullet in his shoulder – was unfathomably taxing. His one month in Rikers didn’t do him any favors. When this was over, he needed to work on his cardio.

He nearly tripped when he forced himself to come to a grinding halt by the armory. The two black-clad Cartel hitmen lied discarded like forgotten rubbish on the ground. His head turned to the armory door – still firmly shut. Then it swiveled to one of the nearby open doors. Shayne peeked in with his rifle raised. The small office’s window was blown wide open, indicating the Cartel’s attempted flank. Shayne returned to the armory door and called out, “Hey, Court?”

The door cracked open. Green eyes and the lowered muzzle of a shotgun greeted him. Worry creased her brow at the sight of his blood-spattered self. Courtney tugged off the noise-cancelling earmuffs she scavenged as her eyes studied him. He offered her an approximation of a reassuring smile.

“You’re not lookin’ so hot, dude.” Her hand reached out for his shoulder, before pausing. When he showed no sign of pulling away, she opened the door further and took a step closer. Her hand ghosted over the torn fabric of his shirt at the wound slowly oozing blood. Her lithe fingers inspected the damaged cloth from where the bullet had entered.

Shayne gave a halfhearted scoff, “I’m always lookin’ hot, Court.” He ignored her eyeroll and the smile she bit back as he asked, “You guys do that?”

Courtney peeped over Shayne’s shoulder to follow what his finger was pointing at. She gave a slight shrug at the sight of the two downed Cartel gunmen, “Yeah, me and Matt took care of it.”

Shayne leaned over Courtney to peer into the armory. Spent brass casings from a rifle, and a few ejected shells dotted the armory’s floor. Courtney was smart to pick up those earmuffs. The blast of a shotgun in an enclosed room would have her ears bleeding if she was forced to sustain the gunfire. Detective Raub’s half-conscious form leaned against one wall. The tourniquet stopped the bleeding, but his hand wasn’t looking any better. Just the same, he held his rifle in one hand, and supported it with the wrist of his other. He nodded his head in greeting. The guy had grit; Shayne had to give him that.

Satisfied with how they were managing themselves, Shayne gingerly took hold of Courtney’s hand to extract it from his shoulder. Before he could tell her to be safe or to watch out, her fingers slipped to interlock with his. His heart skipped a beat at the warm, comforting weight of her hand in his. Courtney’s apprehension was plain to see on her expressive features.

“That,” Courtney’s eyes went to the bullet hole in his shoulder, then flicked back to his eyes, “Better be the last shot you take, man.”

She fought back the endless worry in her eyes to give him a light smile, “That’s an order, Marine.”

Shayne huffed a quiet laugh and he squeezed her hand. The tiniest bit of hope sparked in his chest. The hope for an _after_ without guns and bloodshed. The image of a quiet night of cool beers, a soft couch, and a warm blanket, threatened to creep back into Shayne’s mind. He banished the thoughts with a smile as he relinquished her hand.

“Yes, ma’am.”

The worry and longing in Courtney’s eyes were the only thing that gave him pause before he made himself scarce. She locked the armory door tight, and Shayne was on his way. When he reached the back, he found gunfire intermittently pinging the far end of the hall. It forced Shayne to stay low, rifle in hand. Smoke was filling the rear entrance hall, and the defenders were doing their best to repel the assault. He could see Officer Pearson a few feet back from their defensive line, clutching her head. He bit the dread back down, forcing the anger to kick up in its stead. With long strides, Shayne risked being shot as he ran across the hall. He slid to a stop by Officer Pearson to assess her.

The blood was mixing and matting up her auburn hair. She was bleeding profusely just above the ear. The bullet grazed her head far too close, but she was alive. Shayne pressed his hand to the wound to help slow the bleeding.

“Officer Pearson, you’re gonna be okay, you hear me?”

Her eyes were shut tight, but the affirmative bob of her head despite her pained grimace would suffice. Shayne’s eyes ran over her body to detect any other injuries. The growing pool of blood on the grimy tiles by her leg indicated a wound there as well.

“Ma’am, I’m gonna give your leg a check, okay?” Shayne took her grunt as a positive sign. He reached out with a cautious but deliberate hand to check the gunshot wound on her thigh. He found that the round went clean through and exited out the back. If the rate she was bleeding was anything to go by, the shot just barely missed her femoral artery. They had some time but needed to make it count.

Shayne’s head spun around on a swivel to take in the scene. The three officers were firing sporadically into the smoke, with minimal effect. The irregularly paced shooting was keeping the Cartel from executing a final push. The smoke on the other hand offered the gunmen the chance to return fire and hit Officer Pearson. The small rooms not far away would be their best bet. He had to deal with this himself to keep the officers safe.

“Officers! Covering fire! Now!”

The three didn’t hesitate this time. Rather than taking turns shooting amidst the Cartel’s bullets snapping close by, they all got into position. They stabilized their weapons atop the edge of the steel desk and began to fire with deliberation.

“Officer Pearson, I’m gonna drag you back, okay?” Shayne asked, but didn’t wait for a reply this time. He stayed low, gripping her by the back of her vest and tugging. She let out a pained cry as her leg painted a gruesome trail across the tiles. Shayne pulled her into the nearest office then propped her back up against the wall.

“Hey, officer – hey,” Shayne gave her a gentle shake, finally catching her eyes, “You put pressure on that leg, okay? I’m gonna get your boys back here. You focus on that leg.”

Satisfied with her pained nod and her hands by her thigh, Shayne left the room. He reached cover as bullets continued to fly overhead. Shayne’s rifle came up to aim downrange.

“You three peel back to that room with Officer Pearson. Keep the door open and setup security. Don’t let anyone past that door, got it?” Shayne waited for their sharp, hasty nods, then added, “Peel off one by one, starting left to right. Go!”

Shayne began to fire his rifle as the other two followed his lead. The officer to the far left broke off to the next line in a run. The steady beat of their gunfire continued to pop off as bullets whizzed by too close for comfort. Judging by the occasional tracers that lit up the air, it appeared the Cartel dismantled the barricade and were trying to push through the door. Shayne felt a weight on his shoulder as the last officer announced, “Topp, I’m moving!”

“Go!”

The gun gave a click once the last officer was down the hall. Shayne went through the familiar motions of reloading the weapon, then vaulted over his cover. He stayed low as the bullets continued to crack ahead. One of them got lucky firing through the smoke. The vest stopped the bullet, but the sheer kinetic energy rippled throughout Shayne’s body. He doubled over, stumbling as he reached the window at the edge of the smoke.

Shayne hissed through his teeth, back pressed flat to the wall. It felt like being hit with a goddamn hammer. He ran a hand across the vest to check its condition. Lady Luck decreed that he be hit by a handgun round and not something bigger or faster. He could practically imagine the lucky gunman that nailed him. The guy probably emptied his automatic weapon in Shayne’s direction, let the sling catch its weight, then drew his handgun to continue the suppressive fire. Shayne shook his head and let out a sharp, quiet exhale to re-center himself.

The Cartel pressed into the room with several sharp foreign commands that Shayne couldn’t understand. He hugged the wall, rifle at the ready as they poured in through the thinning smoke. He counted eight men that stepped in, weapons trained at the overturned desks at the mouth of the hallway. His steps were silent as he crept along the wall to position himself behind them. They were tunnel-visioning down the hallway. Their arrogance and haste would be the death of them. A disciplined unit would’ve swept the room before pushing in. Mistakes such as this were lethal, and he would give them no quarter for their misstep.

Shayne’s rifle kicked back against his aching shoulder and unleashed lead with a fury. He let out a loud roar as the spent brass casings pinged free from the rifle at a rapid pace. Five hitmen dropped like sacks of bricks from his well-placed shots, leaving three very confused Cartel gunmen. Shayne hurled the rifle at the closest man who was in the middle of turning to face him.

The rifle caught him in the face, and the gunman dropped to the ground, his weapon harmlessly discharging into the ceiling. Shayne yanked his Glock free and kneecapped the second man. The first tried to point his weapon in Shayne’s direction, only for him to kick it out of his hands. With a fine leather shoe to the chest, Shayne executed to first Cartel soldier.

The third man regained his senses and directed his shots at Shayne. His submachinegun let out an inaccurate burst in his direction, forcing Shayne to dive for cover. A measly wooden coffee table was the best Shayne had. The bullets splintered through, and Shayne winced as his concealment was chipped away. As the torrent of firepower stopped, Shayne exited cover, gun drawn.

The Cartel soldier was quicker. He’d tossed his weapon back and transitioned to his sidearm. The wind left Shayne’s body as his vest absorbed two more gut-wrenching shots. Shayne toppled over in pain, but not before he flicked the Glock’s fire selector to automatic. He emptied his magazine in the Cartel gunman’s direction as he blindly returned fire in a wild flurry. It was enough to force him into cover as Shayne grit his teeth through the pain. Reloading the Glock in his hands was muscle memory at this point.

It was a good thing, too. If it wasn’t, he wouldn’t have been prepared for the kneecapped Cartel soldier’s gun. His eyes caught it as a metallic glint reflecting the dim emergency lights. His body moved on instinct, firing three rounds in its direction, putting the second man out of his misery. The third Cartel soldier took that time to charge him now that he was apparently out of ammo. Shayne tried to bring the gun back, only to receive a haymaker to the face.

Shayne staggered back as the hitman established a firm control over his wrist and the pistol. He knew these tricks like the back of his hand. Shayne allowed the gunman to push the momentum forward. Shayne voluntarily collapsed his elbow, then shifted his hips into place and extended his leg. With a swift swing of his foot, he reaped the hitman’s leg as he was teetering off balance. The Cartel soldier faceplanted with a resounding crack of his nose. Shayne put him down with a round to the back of the skull.

His heavy breathing reverberated off the walls of the deathly silent hazy rear entrance. Once he was certain it was clear, he reloaded the Glock and stepped back into the hallway. He loudly identified himself so the officers wouldn’t shoot on instinct. Shayne peeked his head into the cramped office and found two weapons aimed at the wall and off of him. One of the officers was applying first aid to Officer Pearson’s leg. Thoroughly out of breath, Shayne motioned to the two armed officers and jerked his thumb back out the hall. They caught his meaning and returned to their original line of defense.

The ringing in his ears, his weary breaths, and his echoing footsteps were the only sounds left in the precinct. It was unnerving, and only served to make him jog as fast as his tired body would allow. His chest was _aching_ from the shots that the vest stopped. Shayne mused that he was not very good at following Courtney’s orders.

His hand rose to press at the vest and inspect it. One bullet was enough. Three meant it was now a risk relying on the vest. The tightly wound fibers were compromised, and he’d be lucky if it could stop another flurry of handgun bullets. These police vests weren’t like the 5.11 plate carrier vests back in the Marines. Those beauties could withstand a lot of punishment.

Meanwhile, the fiery sensation in his shoulder was worsening by the moment, agitated further by all the movement he was doing. The bullet fragments needed to be dug out of his shoulder soon or else he risked some permanent damage. As Shayne got closer to the bullpen, he observed that the officers gathered there hadn’t moved an inch. It appeared as though the Cartel didn’t make a second push. They turned to him when he came to a stop by their rear. His blood splattered self and the thumbs up he gave sent a wave of relief over the men and women holding the line. Before he could ask if it was all quiet on their end, a voice blared from a megaphone outside the precinct.

“Shayne Topp!”

The fact that it was a decidedly American voice made him frown. The Cartel was working with a local element, it appeared.

“We have no quarrel with the police, Topp! Come out now so we can end this!”

Shayne looked at the officers who were crouched by the overturned desks. Their weapons were still pointed downrange even as they looked up at him. His gaze ran over each of their faces and he was met with steely determination and conviction.

“No,” Officer Fisher simply said with a shake of her head.

“We’re holdin’ our ground, Topp,” Officer Bunch agreed.

“Topp, if you don’t get your ass out here, I’m putting a bullet in this guy’s head!”

His heart skipped a beat. This complicated things. The officers mimicked his alarmed and apprehensive expression. They looked at him as if for direction or orders, since that’s all he’d been giving the past fifteen or so minutes. Feeling the weight and the burden of it all on his shoulders, Shayne motioned to the bullpen as he spoke, “Heads down – move carefully. Keep those weapons up. Odds are they’re clear of the bullpen, but don’t take any chances. Take up the same positions.”

Officers Bunch and Fisher led the fireteams through the gruesome hallway and towards the bullpen. They kept their heads down and crept up to their designated spots. Shayne press checked his Glock, more to ease his mind than anything else. Satisfied with the chambered bullet, he began to walk across the grisly corridor.

The haunting stillness that followed an intense gunfight never failed to make Shayne’s anxiety kick through the roof. He could sustain a firefight for hours with a few good men. It was the aftermath that made him uneasy.

Footsteps from his rear alerted him of Detective Raub and Courtney peering from the armory. He didn’t blame them. With the gunfire dying down and the guy shouting through his megaphone, they likely wanted to assess the situation. Knowing better than to argue with them, he simply motioned for them to keep their heads down. They complied, staying low as they edged towards the entry of the bullpen. The two pointedly avoided looking at the ghastly remains of the Cartel soldiers.

Shayne took a spot by his window to the far left and peeked out. If his blood had ran cold from the initial threat, it had now turned to ice in his veins.

Officer Martin was bloodied and beaten down on his knees. Two ski-masked gunmen trained their weapons on the officer. Several more stood guard, while one had the megaphone raised to his mouth.

“I’m giving you the count of ten, Topp! Step down unarmed and we let this cop walk.”

Shayne snarled at the sight of them. There was no choice to be made. This guy wasn’t dying on his watch.

If he had Billy goddamn Russo with him, they could’ve popped everyone’s melons and saved Officer Martin with little fuss. But Shayne didn’t have that luxury. Bill was long gone, and he was shit out of luck. His shooters on the second floor were no scout snipers. They couldn’t end this the same way Shayne and Billy could.

Shayne unstrapped the tattered Kevlar vest and allowed it to hit the ground with a thud. The safety of his Glock was flipped on before he set it down on a vacant desk.

“Ten.”

This was their last play. If he didn’t surrender himself, they’d kill Officer Martin and storm the building again in what could possibly be a suicide attack. He needed to keep as many people alive and out of the line of fire as possible.

“Nine.”

Shayne stepped past the window to navigate the mess of the bullpen. Courtney, still toting that shotgun, rushed forward to meet him. Raub looked even paler than usual but stepped in line as well.

“Topp-”

“What, detective?” Shayne snapped in frustration. The burning in his shoulder, and his aching ribs were setting him on edge. “You want me to wait for SWAT? You want Officer Martin to die? That it?”

“Shayne,” Courtney’s scolding voice broke through the red haze. His eyes met hers for a split second before darting away.

“I need to do this, okay?” Shayne put his foot down.

Courtney’s voice was pleading this time, “Shayne, they’re going to kill you.”

“Eight.”

Shayne’s face scrunched up – partially in frustration, partially in disagreement. He shrugged and spoke as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, “Better me than him.”

“Seven.”

Courtney’s hand settled on his arm, just below the open, bleeding wound he sustained at the start of the shooting. He found himself drawn to her damp green eyes. A gentle frown settled into his brow. He never liked seeing Courtney tearing up. All the worse that it was almost always because of him. When she blinked, a loose couple of tears trickled down her face. Shayne realized that with the black vest off, the bleeding in his shoulder was twice as noticeable. She was getting choked up at the sight of it.

Shayne found himself wiping the tears away with his bloody hand. He realized the error of his ways at the sight of the streaks of blood he inadvertently drew.

“Six.”

He made to pull away, but Courtney’s own hand came up to keep his in place. Her eyes fluttered shut and she leaned into his touch without a care for the mess it was making. His heart grew faint at the sight of her. At the prospect that this could be the last they saw of each other. At the knowledge that she could never be safe so long as he and the shitstorm of his life were around.

Remorse filled up within him as the vignettes in his mind fluttered up to the surface. No coffee and breakfast in the tranquil mornings in her apartment. No quiet evenings together in the safe sanctuary of her living room. No peaceful slumber lying a good foot or two away from her in the safety of her bedroom.

That wasn’t the life he was allowed to have. It wasn’t what he deserved.

He was The Punisher. Death and violence were the only things he knew, and the only things that followed him.

“Five”

Shayne made to draw his hand back, but all it did was cause Courtney to step in far too close to him. Her pleading, glassy green eyes bore into his very soul. With her firm hand on his arm, she pulled him forward with a tentative tug. Her lips pressed a tragically longing kiss to his cheek.

He felt a crack in his resolve. It threatened to crumble away in its entirety. That spark of hope dared to flare up back in his chest, but Shayne stomped it down into the dirt where it belonged.

There was no after.

Not for him.

Courtney pulled away. The back of her hand raised to press against her lips, as if she herself couldn’t believe she’d just done that. The spot her lips had been felt hot on his cheek.

Shayne was rooted in place. Every fiber of his being was split two ways, and he couldn’t satisfy them both. It pained him to leave with her standing there looking like that. Courtney must have sensed the issue. She had a knack for that. She could read him like an open book.

“Go,” A gentle hand on his chest guided him towards the door. It was easier when he had her _permission_ like that, “Go on.”

With a gulp, Shayne looked into her endlessly sad eyes, “Take care.”

“Four.”

Shayne turned around before those soulful green eyes could break away the dam of his resolve. Before they tried to convince him that he deserved anything more than a violent death and a shallow grave.

“Three.”

His heavy footfalls echoed throughout the stillness of the bullpen. He stepped over the fallen bodies, the puddles of blood, and the endless spent bullet casings. He glanced once at the fire that crackled away in the corner where the RPG had hit. The officers watched him go, steel and anger in their eyes at the corner they’d been backed into. The ringing of his ears mixed with his heart’s heavy pounding. It drowned out whatever sentiments the officers tried to part with him. All he could distinguish were the solemn nods they gave as he walked past.

“Two!”

Shayne stood at the front of the precinct. He squinted against the afternoon sun that beat down and highlighted the crimson staining his button down. His left hand raised into the air with little difficulty. The right came up halfway as another sharp burn from his shoulder made itself known. Something was getting pinched in there.

“Let’s go, Topp.” The man lowered his megaphone and waved him over.

He climbed down the steps and landed back on the streets. The Cartel’s deceased gunners littered the pavement. Their blood intermingled with the brass shells that shined in the sunlight. Shayne felt a quiet surge of pride at the efficacy with which the officers fought.

Shayne could make out the smoldering wreckage of the NYPD’s crashed helicopter farther down the street. Nearby it was the SWAT truck that had gone up in flames and was still burning away. Its counterpart was on the other side of the street, bodies lying across the area. In the far distance, he could see a police line to contain the perimeter of the precinct’s siege. If the Cartel’s actions so far taught him anything, it was that the perimeter line would buckle under the weight of their firepower.

Two of the masked men set their rough hands on Shayne’s arms and dragged him towards the closest black van. Officer Martin was dragged towards the front of the precinct and shoved down against the steps.

“Where are the zip ties?” One of Shayne’s captors asked in a hushed whisper.

“I thought you had ‘em,” The other replied.

Shayne squinted in confusion, head turning to look at either of the two Americans. They began to bicker as he was loaded into the back of the van. Around them, Shayne could hear the remaining dozen or so men mounting up in the identical black vans as the engines kicked on.

Shayne was positioned directly behind the passenger seat, with two men to his side, and another sitting on the floor. The one sitting was rifling through his bag in search of the missing zip ties. The one immediately next to Shayne kept a solid grip on his arms.

The man with the megaphone got into place behind Shayne. The engine roared to life as the van began to move. From where he sat, Shayne could make out the distinct sound of a light machinegun being loaded. To Shayne’s far side, a fresh rocket was being locked in place into an RPG’s tube.

The red haze was starting to flicker back into sight. The whole reason he surrendered peacefully was to avoid more senseless loss of life. He didn’t need them blowing up a police barricade and shooting them to ribbons.

Shayne clenched his teeth and bid his time. They were moving fast now, likely with the intention of riding out the shockwave of the explosion. With a sharp chambering of a bullet, the LMG at the front was ready to fire. The American raised his phone up to his ear and began to speak.

“Yeah, we got him.” His cool voice filled the van. It was the slightest bit familiar, but Shayne couldn’t place it. “Cops might give chase, but the firepower is gonna keep ‘em back. Tell the Blacksmith we’ll be there in under an hour.”

The moniker caught Shayne’s attention. The memory of Courtney’s earlier call rose to the forefront of his mind. This Blacksmith was likely the head of the operation dealing those anvil-stamped heroin packets. This guy was involved in his family’s deaths.

“Blacksmith? Who’s the Blacksmith?” Shayne growled in question. The man at the front hung up and craned his masked face to look at Shayne.

The American scoffed once, then turned back and began rolling down his window.

“He’s the guy that’s gonna cut you up nice and neat, Topp. Make a nice couple o’ incisions. Big ol’ Y and all.”

Shayne narrowed his eyes at the strange threat. He could pick apart the deliberate wording later. For now, he saw his opportunity arising. The idiots were still fumbling for his restraints. The only thing holding him down was one guy. The door to Shayne’s far side opened as the man leaned out to take aim with his RPG.

Shayne kicked off the ground, pushing into his captor. He bumped into their rocket-man, and the weapon discharged into the sky with a blast as he lost balance. The man tumbled out of the van with a shriek.

“Hey, what the fuck?!” The American at the front called. His LMG was already positioned out the window and preparing to take fire at the barricade.

He hated this next part, but it was the only free _weapon_ he had.

Shayne rammed his forehead into his captor’s masked nose. The jarring impact stunned Shayne for a split second, but it had the other man reeling as he yelled out in pain. Shayne grabbed the pistol from his captor’s holster and pointed it at the man who only now found the zip ties. The pistol’s bark in the tiny confines of the van were as loud as any shotgun. He grit his teeth as the rounds pummeled into the man’s vest and tore through his head.

A fist struck Shayne across the face, sprawling him out on the back seat. Before his captor could press the advantage, Shayne brought his foot up to keep the man from lunging at him. He levelled the gun up and killed him with a neat shot to the head.

The man in the passenger seat was preoccupied blasting at the police blockade that was now firing on their vehicle. Bullets pinged off the reinforced metal, while others caught on the bulletproof windshield. The driver turned his alarmed, masked face towards Shayne.

Seeing no other appropriate course of action, Shayne raised the pistol up and brained the driver. His limp body slumped forward onto the steering wheel. Only then did the American in the passenger seat turn his attention back to the ongoing massacre in his van.

“Topp, you’re gonna kill us all!”

The American’s machinegun fire was enough to get the cops to duck back. He tried to grab for the steering wheel, but it was too late. The blockade was composed of several police cruisers, with a small opening towards the center. Said opening had a spike strip laid out to blow out their tires. The RPG was supposed to take care of that and the vehicles. Instead, they rammed against the edges of the cars, their tires popping against the spikes. The other black vans met similar fates – blown tires and brakes that were steadily failing as they sped ahead out of control

The vehicle careened in a mad dash down the evacuated streets. The shredded tires skidded and shrieked in protest as they zoomed by. They were fast. The presence of the gas tanker truck at the intersection made the pit in Shayne’s stomach deepen. The only consolation was that the police appeared to have evacuated the streets for several blocks around the precinct. Those were abandoned vehicles up ahead.

Shayne watched with wide eyes as they grew closer by the moment. The American looked at Shayne. The balaclava obscured most of his features, but the horror in his eyes was unmistakable as he asked, “What the fuck, Topp?”

He didn’t dignify that with a response. Instead, he flicked on the safety of his stolen pistol and tucked it into the waistband of his slacks. Knowing he’d need help if he survived this, he snatched the cellphone out of the dead man’s pocket. Before he could second guess himself, Shayne dived out of the open van door.

Shayne slammed into the ground hard. He bounced once, flying a good couple feet into the air before crashing down on his bad shoulder. He protected his head and neck as best as he could as he rolled and skid on the pavement. His bones creaked in agony with every walloping crash on the ground. His slacks and his shirt tore from the sharp impact against the unforgiving asphalt. As his momentum slowed, and his entire body ached with pain, he felt the heat wash over him before he heard it.

The vans collided with the tanker, igniting the liquified gas within. A massive ball of fire erupted, engulfing the entire intersection. He could feel the sweltering heat from where he lied on the ground, barely a hundred meters away. The other swerving black vans helplessly crashed into the wreckage as well and were swallowed up by the flames.

He allowed himself the chance to lie there for a few seconds as the burning heat masked the indescribably agonizing pain that he was feeling.

Shayne was woozy getting up onto his feet. He stumbled back down once before he tried again. When he successfully straightened up, the stabbing pain in his ankle made itself known. His torn clothes exposed his bleeding and road-burned wounds. He limped towards the closest dark alley to stay out of sight. The battle-trance of clarity in his head was gone. In its place was the primal drive to survive. With a clenched jaw, Shayne pressed his back against the alley’s moist brick wall. He ignored the excruciating pain from his shoulder, his ribs, his limbs, his head – his whole fucking body, really.

He was alive.

He was _free_ too.

That knowledge brought an excited flutter into his aching chest. He could resume his hunt for the shitbags responsible. Leak and Grossman, and Courtney could stay far away from his shitstorm now. They didn’t have to be involved and endangered by him anymore. Fighting the people responsible cleanly didn’t work. Not when Reyes and the Blacksmith and whoever else kept playing dirty. It was a good thing Shayne could play dirtier.

But first things first – he needed to live long enough to find and eliminate his prey.

Shayne shook his head to himself to try and bring back a sense of clarity in his mind. The fact he was still breathing meant his ribs weren’t broken – maybe one or two or six hairline fractures, but not broken. He wasn’t throwing up or seeing double, meaning his head likely wasn’t concussed. He could _move_ his arms and legs, which was good enough, despite the aching.

Shayne paused and wiggled his shoulder, only to wince at the sharp pain. That was definitely dislocated.

He could make out numerous cuts along his limbs and his midsection paired with the hideous red road burn all over. A few of those might need stitches. The hole in his shoulder was bound to get infected if it wasn’t dealt with. He couldn’t reset the joint while the bullet was still in there, either. He was already feeling lightheaded from the blood loss.

If he had a kit with him, he could extract the bullet himself. He could even stitch it up on his own if he put his mind to it, but that wasn’t an option. If he didn’t figure something out, he was going to bleed out in this alley.

Shayne tore a strip of tattered fabric from his ruined top. He let his head lean back against the grimy brick wall as he got to work wrapping it around the first of many wounds. His eyes vacantly looked past the far mouth of the alley.

A distant cross in the skyline caught Shayne’s attention and stilled his rattled mind.

He promised himself he wouldn’t drag the man into this, but he was out of options.

Shayne tugged the now cracked phone out of his pocket. The keypad came up with a few swipes, and he hoped to God the man still had his burner phone.

After a few rings, Shayne heard the familiar voice on the other end of the line.

“Hello?”

Shayne let slip a sigh of relief.

“Psychic, this is Gerbil. Line is not secure. I’m kinda fucked up. Church?”

There was a pause.

“Church, it is. Be there in twenty, Gerbil.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading 'til the end! Let me know what you thought of this one! This was another fun one for me to write. I'm a huge fan of not just The Punisher, but John Wick too, and it might show here in the writing. The incorporation of grapples and throws into gunfights in close quarters is a favorite of mine. Things are heating up now, and I assure you they won't stop soon! Next chapters are in the works, and I can't wait to share them with you all!


	17. Wait and Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damien lends a hand. Courtney deals with the aftermath.

Damien’s prosthetic right leg hit the ground first when he stepped out of the car. He’d parked in his usual spot in St. John’s Church and was doing his absolute best to keep his cool. He ran a nervous hand through his brown and dyed blue hair. With a tug on his hoodie, he ensured the .45 in his concealed carry holster was sufficiently hidden.

With how Shayne had left things the last time they saw each other, Damien was thoroughly under the impression he wouldn’t be hearing from him again. Shayne made it abundantly clear he didn’t want Damien involved in his war. If Shayne was calling up the old burner Damien kept and was claiming to be fucked up – well, it had to be serious then.

Shayne was as stubborn as they came. If he could dig a bullet out of a wound using a pair of pliers, he would. He was the type of guy that would refuse medical help up until death’s door, especially if it meant other people got aid before him. For him to actually ask for help was a red flag.

Damien put some of the pieces together during the drive over to church. The radio was abuzz with the news of the shootout at the 15th precinct, and the explosion not far away. It didn’t take a genius to connect the dots and figure that Shayne survived the explosion somehow.

Damien’s eyes darted around the parking lot and found it mostly empty at this hour in the afternoon. There were a few scattered cars in the vicinity, but their owners were absent. Mass wouldn’t be for another few hours, and he didn’t have a support group session today. The small number of vehicles probably belonged to staff, or some visiting church members.

There were several trashcans off to the side of the old white church. It was a bit of a mess now that Damien thought about it. Usually the trash bins belonging to St. John’s would be considerably neat and tidy. One can was tipped over to the side, and several knotted black bags lay discarded. Bottles, cans, boxes, and other loose rubbish littered the pile. A pair of discarded shoes lied forgotten at the bottom of the repulsive heap.

Damien squinted at the pile in scrutiny.

Leave it to the fucking Scout Sniper to have impeccable camouflage in New York City.

Damien walked over to the trash heap and spared a glance at his surroundings. For _years_ he’d been bugging the church to finally install CCTV cameras in the parking lot for security. For once, he was glad they were still making excuses about their pinched budget.

He nudged the pile with his prosthetic foot and called softly, “Gerbil.”

The trash heap shifted. Bottles clinked to the side and cans toppled to the ground. Plastic crinkled and complained as Shayne Topp’s pale face peeked out from underneath the garbage.

“Hey, Dames.”

As much as he wanted to kick his best friend in the teeth for getting himself banged up, a smile came up to his lips. Because how could it not when Shayne fucking Topp disguised himself as a trash heap and greeted him with the nonchalance of an afternoon coffee meetup.

“So, you – uh,” Damien made a show of putting on a nervous face, “You come here often?”

Shayne let out a quiet laugh before he struggled to sit up, revealing the bloody _rags_ he was wearing. Damien’s heart skipped a beat, and his inner medic took over. With a final scan of their currently vacant surroundings, he reached down to give the man a hand.

He looked Shayne’s body over. Judging by the fact he was able to walk to the church all the way from the site of the explosion meant he wasn’t _that_ badly off. He’d seen Shayne through worse. He stood with a bit of a limp, which Damien assumed was due to a sprained or dislocated foot. The guy might not have even realized it yet with the adrenaline and his ridiculous pain tolerance. Shayne had nasty, raw abrasions all over, along with a few haphazardly bandaged cuts on his arms, legs, and torso. That explained where his shirt went. It appeared the worst bleeding was from the wound in his shoulder, which was covered up with a scrap of his shirt. It was a steady flow, but it appeared to have been staunched by Shayne’s hasty first aid.

Damien did a double take at Shayne’s haphazardly bandaged and somehow skewed shoulder. The deformity was the sign of a dislocation. He was sure it hurt like a bitch, but it wasn’t pressing for now.

In conclusion, it could wait until they reached his house.

Damien hooked Shayne’s good arm over his shoulders and hobbled them over to his car. Shayne’s breathing was faint, a sign of his fading strength. It spurred Damien on to hurriedly open the back door, already wrapped in plastic. He guided Shayne into lying down in the back, noting his grimaces and gritted teeth as he shifted.

They were soon on the road and zooming down the mostly empty streets. Damien craned his head slightly as he kept his eyes on the road. “Hey, talk to me buddy.”

Shayne let out a quiet groan, but obliged, “Think I… think I might’ve been shot back there.”

The anxiety started creeping further along Damien’s insides. Confusion was a _bad_ sign of brain trauma and severe blood loss. If he lost too much blood he could go into shock. If the concussion was bad, Damien wasn’t certain he could deal with it all by himself. They needed to get back to his place as soon as possible, or else –

Damien’s eyes narrowed as a scattered couple of memories peeked into the forefront of his mind.

This was the kind of shit he pulled overseas.

_Did I get shot?_

_Hey, guys, was that a bullet?_

_Is that… was I shot?_

The little asshole loved wisecracking when he was bleeding out next to Damien. It was a coping mechanism, but one that never failed to make Damien want to smack the shit out of him.

Damien came to a stop at the next intersection and depressed the brakes a little harder than necessary. He turned his head back to Shayne, “You better not be fucking with me.”

Shayne’s immature and somewhat manic, giggling filled the car, and Damien was filled with the urge to toss the man out the car. “Damnit, Shayne!”

His laughs turned into several pained coughs, followed by a low groan. “Okay. Stopping now.”

“What happened back there?”

After a breath or two, Shayne answered, “Cartel. Workin’ with some local guys.”

“It’s all over the news,” Damien avoided glancing back as the traffic light turned green, “They’re telling everyone to stay off the streets. It’s a miracle no civilians were hurt.”

“Hm,” Shayne hummed after a beat, “Good on the cops for clearing the streets blocks away. If only they got the cars off the street and not just the people.”

“Kinda surprised you got out of that explosion in one piece.”

There was a grumble from the backseat before Shayne replied, “Me too.”

Damien let the questions tumble out in an effort to keep Shayne conscious and speaking, even if they could probably wait for a better time.

“Why’d you bring me in, Shayne? Why didn’t you just sit back and wait for the cops to get you?” Damien asked, “I’m kind of aiding and abetting a fugitive, y’know? I could do with a little info.”

Shayne was all grumbles and sighs and groans from the backseat. It sounded as though he himself didn’t have a proper answer. There was a word he muttered to himself that sounded vaguely like a name.

“What?” Damien asked.

“Their way isn’t working anymore. Too many…” Shayne trailed off. Whether it was in thought or because he was slipping into unconsciousness, Damien wasn’t sure.

“Hey – stay with me, dude.”

There was another grunt, followed by a hiss of pain. Damien stepped on the gas and risked being pulled over for speeding. They weren’t too far now. He needed to give the guy a proper assessment and deal with what was most definitely a bullet in his shoulder.

“The people behind this. They’re dirty. We can’t keep…” He lapsed into silence again with a grunt of pain. Shayne tried explaining through clenched teeth, “The court, the press – it’s all bullshit.”

“What are you talking about?” Damien frowned as he glanced at Shayne using the rearview mirror. He had a hand pressed to his shoulder, squirming slightly in discomfort.

“Can’t fight ‘em clean anymore. Everyone’s gonna wind up dead if-” Shayne cut himself off with a sharp gasp, followed by a long sigh. Damien could see him digging his head back into the seat in an effort to deal with the pain.

“Hey, keep pressure on it, buddy. We’re nearly there.”

Shayne eased into silence after that. His steady, weak breathing filled the car. Damien focused on the road. His home in Queens wasn’t too far off now.

It was jarring seeing him like this. It wasn’t at all like the last time they saw each other.

* * *

“You better believe I’m ready, Shayne.” Damien did his best to tower over Shayne as he glared at him. Shayne was a few inches shorter than him, but his imposing presence made up for it twofold. Shayne’s tight scowl was fixed right back at Damien.

They faced off in the dim light of Damien’s kitchen. Shayne’s tense form shook with a poorly masked anger that raged within him. His fists were clenched, knuckles white. His lip was curled into a fierce sneer. The veins on his face and his neck jutted out and throbbed with a fury.

“Yeah? You think so?” Shayne growled. His finger jabbed at the bulletproof vest over Damien’s chest, “You got your goddamn vest and your prosthetic leg – you’re a big badass now?”

Damien’s hackles raised as the heat bubbled up to his chest, “That’s foul, Shayne.”

“You know what’s foul?” Shayne took a step closer as he glowered up at Damien, “My family’s goddamn dead and you’re out here trying to be next.”

“I don’t have a death wish,” Damien scoffed, “I’m trying to watch your back!”

“What, it wasn’t bad enough that you lost your leg because of me?” Shayne’s dark eyes tightened in his direction. He let out a huff, “You wanna get your damn head blown off too?”

“Shayne,” His disapproving tone came, “You know that wasn’t on you.”

Shayne turned and took a few steps back, running a hand through his short blonde hair. Without looking back, he said, “You got a good thing going, Dames. I’m not letting you throw that all away.”

“Dude,” Damien’s hands came up in emphasis, “These shitbags need to pay for what they did to you, Nicole, and Lizzy! You’re not doing that on your own!”

Damien watched the wild tapping of his friend’s trigger finger against his leg. There was the slightest twitch of a vein on his neck at the mention of his wife and daughter’s names.

“We’ll make them pay, Shayne. You’re gonna wind up in a ditch if you go out there alone.”

Shayne finally turned back to fix his deadly glare at Damien. His finger came up to jab at the plate carrier vest yet again, “You put on a fucking vest and suddenly you’re invincible? Lemme tell you what’s gonna happen, Damien.”

The frustration of Shayne’s stubbornness was grating on his nerves. Damien growled right back, “What? What’s gonna happen, Shayne?”

“If you go out with me, we’re going to fucking _kill_ people, Damien. This isn’t Iraq, Afghanistan – this isn’t the war. This is home. You know what that’ll make us? That’s gonna make us fucking _murderers_ , Damien. You ready for that?” Shayne’s teeth all but bared as he went on his angry rant, “What’ll Alice think when she comes home and realizes she’s engaged to a fucking murderer, huh? You wanna come home to her like that? You wanna wear your fucking bloodstained vest in this house?”

“The fucking gangs that did this are gonna hunt us down once we start hitting them. They won’t stop with us – they’ll look for everyone we care about!” Shayne barked, “You want that? You want the Irish to get their hands on Alice, is that what you want? You know what the Irish do?”

Damien kept his seething eyes on Shayne but didn’t respond. It goaded Shayne to continue on as the furious words spewed forth, “They’re gonna take a shotgun to her fucking kneecaps. That what you want for your girl, Dames? You follow me into this fight and all you’re gonna get are matching fake legs with Alice.”

His fist shot up to strike Shayne in the face before he could stop it. Shayne stumbled a step back, steadying himself against the kitchen wall. Damien turned his face away as Shayne pressed a hand to his split lip. Damien ignored the throbbing in his knuckles. Instead, he brought his hands up to the vest’s straps.

Shayne was silent for a few long seconds, and Damien didn’t need to look up from his vest to see the remorse on Shayne’s face. He undid the last of the straps and tossed the vest to the ground with a heavy thud. The pistol tucked into his holster was extracted next.

Shayne made his point. As harsh and insensitive as it was, he was right. Shayne had nothing to lose. Damien had everything to lose.

In his anger at the news, and his urgency to help his closest friend, Damien’s judgment was clouded. He hardly thought of the blowback this would’ve brought on Alice if he went on a warpath alongside Shayne.

He ejected the magazine and tugged the slide back to unchamber the round. The lone bullet fell onto his kitchen counter with a quiet _clink_. He set the weapon down on the cool surface.

“Damien…” Shayne trailed off. Damien allowed himself to look at the broken shell of a man. His eyes were as empty and lost as they were damp. He couldn’t fault Shayne for his harsh words. Not after what happened. Damien knew it was the little shit’s way of pushing him away to protect him and Alice.

“I know, buddy.” Damien reached for Shayne and gave a tug to reel him in for a tight hug. His hand came up to the back of Shayne’s head as the husk of a man finally broke down for the first time. Damien rubbed soothing circles into Shayne’s back as his body trembled with silent sobs.

They held each other tight for a few minutes as Shayne regained his composure. Damien silently clutched onto the poor guy as he let it out. During the two months he’d stayed with them, Shayne was more stoic and silent than ever. He didn’t talk about what happened, or _anything_ else. Up until today, Damien thought he and his family were shot up in his car in a drive-by like the police told Schoonover and himself. It was only today that Shayne revealed the gruesome truth because he figured he was strong enough to hunt the gangs down now.

The past week, Shayne had been sneaking out at night and shaking up the local bikers. It was from them he found out that it was the Dogs of Hell, the Kitchen Irish, and the Mexican Cartel who were involved in the shootout. Now that Shayne had the actionable information, he intended to put it to deadly use. What had been Shayne’s attempt at leaving Damien’s house peacefully turned into a shouting match. He was just glad Alice wasn’t home yet when their argument stretched on.

With a sniffle and a determined frown, Shayne pulled back, “I have to do this.”

“I know.”

“I have to do this alone. You can’t follow me out that door, Damien.”

It pained Damien deeply to answer, “I know, buddy.”

Shayne was gone not long after that. He refused Damien’s vest and his gun, insisting he needed neither. Damien may need the vest one day, he said. The ballistics could be traced back to Damien, he said.

Damien watched Shayne’s handiwork through the news reports. Cartel dealers were hung on meat hooks. Bikers were run over and bludgeoned to death. Irish were shot to pieces. The media thought that the three gangs were going at each other and turning New York City into a warzone. Damien knew better. If you _really_ followed the news closely, you’d see Shayne’s work reaching far and wide. Delaware, New Jersey, even some killings as far away as Kentucky.

Then the news came that Shayne had been caught and was being treated for his injuries in Metro-General, the same hospital he shot up just a few days prior. He was torn on whether or not he should try stopping by. On the one hand, Shayne was alone against the world. He had no one left. On the other hand, Shayne had made it extremely clear that he wanted Damien far away from his warpath. It only seemed logical that he wanted him clear of the aftermath as well.

When Damien heard that _The People v Shayne Topp_ was going to trial, he was again tempted to visit. Karen Page’s article on the truth behind the Topp family’s massacre convinced him that there were more indirect ways he could help.

Lots of corpsmen went on to be accomplished doctors and surgeons. After his discharge from the Navy, Damien didn’t follow that path himself. There were other people that needed his help – people that were as broken on the inside as other people were on the outside. Nevertheless – he had his connections. A few phone calls here and there to people he knew, both in Metro General, and the office of the Chief Medical Examiner, got him the files he needed to assist Shayne and his lawyers.

Since this Karen Page lady appeared to have a connection to Shayne, he sent the documents to her in the hopes they’d be put to good use. When Ms. Sui of Leak and Grossman called him up saying that he was named as a potential character witness, he figured maybe Shayne was finally ready to let him back into his life.

* * *

Damien didn’t expect that _this_ was how he was going to be reintroduced to Shayne.

The now unconscious man was lying on his plastic tarped sofa. Damien snipped away at the remains of Shayne’s tattered, bloodstained button-down and his torn slacks to expose his numerous injuries. The fact that Shayne’s underwear wasn’t stained with blood was a grim, yet positive indicator that he didn’t need to slice that away next.

Damien noted the guy had no possessions on him save for a very battered pistol. It looked like it was dropped off a building. The phone Shayne used to call him was long gone as well. He probably broke and tossed it back at the site of the explosion.

His eyes ran over his friend’s battered body to assess his injuries properly. Damien partially undid the bandages by his shoulder first. It was obvious that the clear and most pressing concern was indeed the hole in his shoulder, which lacked an exit wound. Shayne had jammed a torn piece of his shirt into the hole, then wrapped it up with more shredded fabric. It was the type of hasty, horrific first aid that only a jarhead like Shayne could produce. The only thing missing was literal dirt stuffed into the wound to _keep him in the fight_ , even if it meant a disease or two the following day.

Shayne still hadn’t explained the exact circumstances of his survival and how he got out of that explosion in one piece. The news showed shaky cellphone recordings of the shootout, along with his voluntary surrender and entry into the black van. What happened in between his surrender and the gas tanker collision was an unknown to Damien. The fact that Shayne had no burn marks, but a ton of abrasions and miscellaneous bandaged lacerations led Damien to deduce he bailed out of the vehicle. It was a miracle his pretty face avoided the most of it.

Damien grumbled under his breath at the realization that Shayne could have broken bones.

With just a little bit of regret, Damien used a larger pair of scissors to take apart Shayne’s fine leather shoes. He winced at the sight of the swelling by his ankle. Damien’s gloved fingers circled the joint, gently pressing and prodding to assess the severity. The relief washed over Damien when he found it was a sprain at worst. Nothing elevation and some ice wouldn’t fix. Not that Shayne would sit around long enough to heal, knowing him. He was both the most patient sniper and the most impatient recovering _patient_ that Damien had ever treated.

With the rest of Shayne’s bleeding under control thanks to his hasty bandaging, he did an assessment for broken bones.

Nothing in his shoulder was broken, but it _was_ dislocated and needed to be reset. His skillful hands travelled along Shayne’s arms, finding no other extraordinary swelling. His torso was bruised to shit, and he could count three spots where a bulletproof vest saved his life. Thankfully, none of the bruises were swelling at an alarming level, meaning his ribs were all in one piece. Teeny-tiny hairline fractures were another story, but that wasn’t a problem for today. Similarly, Shayne’s legs had a few cuts and bruises from his tumble, but he was intact.

Satisfied with his mental checklist of Shayne’s injuries, he started with the most pressing. He’d have to get the bullet out before he reset Shayne’s shoulder, or else everything was going to be fucked up by those fragments when he did so. It was almost a relief to be dealing with injuries that were _bad_ but not life threatening. It was a walk in the park compared to the other shit he had to deal with throughout the years.

Damien unraveled the messy bandage work that Shayne did. The bleeding had slowed by this point, making his job a smidge easier. He disinfected the wound and the surrounding tissue and got to work with his sterilized tools. Shayne was out like a light and didn’t so much as grunt when he began to extract the fragments. He intermittently checked Shayne’s pulse to find it as steady and consistent as it was faint. He was stable, and that was good enough for Damien.

Half an hour ticked by as he dug out the last of the bullet fragments and lose bits of fabric and gunk that got caught up in the wound. He took Shayne’s hand then and used it to get his arm into position. _This_ was likely to wake him. He had to reset the shoulder before he stitched it, or else he’d just ruin his needlework.

“Deep breath, buddy,” Damien muttered. With a firm push, and a loud pop, Shayne jerked forward with an agonized scream. His wild eyes searched the room, hands clenching the plastic wrapping of Damien’s sofa. He panted with pained, labored breaths.

“Shayne, it’s me.” He let out in a soothing voice, “Dude, you’re safe.” The blonde man’s panicked eyes continued to snap about. His mouth opened and closed, head swiveling back and forth in search of God knows what.

“Courtney?”

Or rather in search of God knows who?

Damien frowned at the unfamiliar name. “Who’s Courtney?”

Shayne muttered something under his breath before his head fell back down to the sofa. His erratic and unsteady breathing began to normalize, and his eyes shut.

“Shayne, who’s Courtney?”

He was either unconscious or ignoring him. Damien made a few more attempts at getting Shayne’s attention, but it was futile. Damien instead resumed his work. He prepared his suturing kit and dug in. The shoulder was an easy wound to close once he finished cleaning it back up. Damien then had to undo one by one the numerous bloody wraps Shayne used to bandage his arms, legs, and torso. He idly wondered if his tumble tore up most of his shirt, or if his hasty bandage work did.

The guy was looking like a goddamn Frankenstein’s monster with all the stitches Damien had to tie off. By the time he finished some forty or so minutes later, Damien counted thirty-two stitches in total all over Shayne’s body. That was including the bullet wound to the shoulder and what Damien guessed was a grazed bullet to the arm. The gunshot wounds seemed so tame compared to the rips in his skin that he sustained from his escape. Rolling out of a moving vehicle tended to do that. The human body moving at speeds it is not supposed to, coupled with the unforgiving road resulted in _tons_ of lacerations both small and large.

Damien finished by propping Shayne’s leg up on a pillow. He walked off to retrieve an ice pack, a ton of painkillers, and a bottle of whiskey. Shayne would need all three when he woke.

* * *

Courtney had no words.

She sat on the edge of the back of Schoonover’s pickup truck. Her vacant eyes stared at the massive fire which was only now beginning to sputter out and weaken. The minutes ticked by, giving way to hours. The late afternoon sun was sinking down and casting its orange glow on the site of the crash.

The colonel’s steely eyes roamed the intersection as he leaned on the hood of his truck. Keith, Noah, and Olivia paced around the sidewalk not far away. They discussed matters in hushed voices. Ian and Anthony were speaking to the officers on the scene, notepads and recorders out. Max sat guard in front of Courtney, patiently waiting for the next development.

Bodies that were scorched and melted beyond recognition were being hauled out of the numerous wreckages of black vans.

Courtney had already seen the countless bodies that were zipped up and wheeled out of the precinct; seeing these ones hardly bothered her. Over forty men and women in uniform were killed in the devastating attack. More would have lost their lives if it weren’t for him.

Before Matt was hauled away to the emergency room, he told Courtney they were telling the public the truth, and nothing but. If it cost Matt his job for letting a detainee go and aid in the defense, then so be it. Fact of the matter was that they would’ve been overrun if not for his tactical leadership and hands-on defense. Lives were saved thanks to him.

She couldn’t even bring herself to _think_ of his name.

The smoldering cadavers dragged from the vans were driving her mind to just blank out. Any one of those could be his body. They were all unrecognizable. Courtney caught a few words here and there as Ian and Anthony spoke to the first responders. There was talk of dental records to identify the dozens of bodies pulled from the fire.

A series of bloody stains painted the pavement from the multiple battered cadavers uncovered a short distance from the fire. Numerous Cartel gunners and their American partners had tried to bail out of their vans as they hurdled towards the tanker. No survivors were found. Snapped necks, broken spines, and cracked skulls were all that were left of those that avoided the fireball in the intersection.

Courtney wasn’t surprised his body wasn’t among those that bailed out. They would’ve restrained him once he got into the van. He couldn’t exactly break his fall with his bound hands if it came down to it. The guy could fight his way out of most situations, but this was different.

Even he couldn’t shoot or punch an explosion away.

There was quiet talk between the defense team of just… _what now?_ They had Reyes playing defense and were pressing the advantage to its fullest potential. They had an actual shot of winning the trial. Now it was like – what trial? Shayne was –

Courtney gulped back the lump in her throat.

Those bright ocean blue eyes were ingrained in her vision. The desperation and the loneliness in his eyes haunted her. The way he stood there like the bleeding mess he was, waiting as if for her permission to go. That’s just the kind of protective, loyal man he was. How he was ready to trade his life for Officer Martin’s showed the kind of dutiful soldier he was. His actions today just added to the list of his deeds that showed how much of a good man he was. If they still had a trial to go back to, those officers all would’ve lined up to be his character witnesses for sure.

After today, Courtney only hoped people would remember him for who he really was. The family man, war hero, and would-be comedian. The Punisher wasn’t who he really was. It didn’t matter that he could likely kill an armed criminal with nothing but his bare hands. He was also a guy that revered his wife, loved his daughter, fiercely protected his soldiers and friends, and really fucking loved yogurt.

What was she going to do with all the goddamn Macrogurt in her fridge now?

Courtney shuffled where she sat as the discomfort set in. The papers in the bag to her side rustled from the movement.

What use were all her notes on the trial now that there _was_ no trial? How were they going to have a trial for a dead man?

What was she going to do with the family picture on her shelf, or the wedding ring in her bedside drawer?

They were such stupid questions and Courtney didn’t know why those were her first and very self-centered thoughts. She figured maybe it was the grief.

Max let out a curious whine by her feet. The dog got up on his hind legs to place his paws and his face on her lap. Courtney’s dull, tired eyes met Max’s. The guy never even got to be reunited with his dog.

She always thought he was invincible. He took punishment left and right as much as he let out, but he still kept getting back up. The memory of Mike pummeling him into the ground was still so fresh in her mind. His lights were knocked out for a good couple of seconds, but he knew how to take a beating. He still got back up and finished the job, even if his body was failing him.

The sight of him bleeding from that shot he took for her, and the other in the shoulder he undoubtedly took for the officers – it made her heart ache. All Shayne did was make her heart ache with his complete disregard for his own safety.

Courtney could still feel his solid, protective weight over her body. The warm, soothing hushes into her ear. His face pressed against her hair. The comforting weight of his hands against her head and her body. She didn’t think it was possible, but it was the safest she’d ever felt, even with the horrific crack and snap of bullets just inches above their heads.

What she wouldn’t give to just hold that self-sacrificing idiot’s hand one last time.

“Ma’am,” A cool voice cut through her thoughts. That word brought visceral feelings back up to her chest. Whether it was the first one he’d uttered in that hospital room, or his flimsy but heartfelt agreement to try and not get shot again – that word did things to Courtney. She knew it wouldn’t be Shayne standing there when she looked up, but she hoped anyway.

Schoonover’s hard eyes were fixed on hers when she finally crawled free from her own mind. It wasn’t surprising to be addressed like that by the colonel. They served in the same outfit, after all. It only made sense they used the same honorifics on people.

From her lap, Max gave a cursory growl at Schoonover’s approach. The protective overgrown pup received a few scratches to the head and promptly quieted down. He chose instead to nuzzle Courtney’s leg.

Courtney made an effort to blink back the dampness in her tired eyes as she nodded at the colonel. Schoonover motioned to the vacant space by her side on the back of his pickup. With a slight bit of hesitation, he asked, “May I?”

Courtney nodded and scooched to the side to allow him more space between them. The colonel eased down onto the spot with a sigh. Courtney noticed his left hand’s trigger finger idly tapping away on his prosthetic hand. If Schoonover noticed her observation of the one nervous tick in his usually emotionless façade, he didn’t show it. His eyes were focused on the first responders dealing with the mess that had unfolded. The hardy steel wreckages that survived the crash were being cut apart with an assortment of power tools. It was the only way to get the rest of the bodies free.

“Shayne had this saying. I think he got it from a book,” Schoonover’s twitchy hand came up to rub at his chin in contemplation. The thoughtful look contrasted the hard frown set into his brow. “Went something like, _human wisdom is contained in two words – wait and hope._ ”

Courtney gulped down the dense lump in her throat, and she nodded. Her voice was rusty and creaky from disuse over the past few hours. “Yeah. He told me the same once.”

Schoonover studied her face for a moment in that calculating way he did whenever he was thinking. After he found whatever it was he could’ve been looking for, he turned his toughened eyes back towards the dying fire. “I think we should take Shayne’s advice on this one.”

The humorless scoff came out harsher than she’d intended, “Colonel – look at that,” Courtney motioned to the fire with an almost angry wave, “Nobody could’ve survived that. They’re already saying that _The Punisher_ is presumed dead. All those black vans went head on into that tanker, _including_ Shayne. All those bodies of the people that bailed out – they’re _broken._ Shayne couldn’t have jumped out.”

The colonel gave her a terse, cursory smile. The steely look in his eyes as he watched the fire didn’t waver, “I understand you got close with him, Ms. Miller. But you don’t know Shayne Topp like I knew him.”

Courtney had to bite back the righteous indignation that threatened to snap out. She had to check herself. She was only angry because of the grief. Lashing out at one of Shayne’s few friends would change nothing and certainly make nothing better. The colonel knew Shayne far longer than she had. He’d bled alongside Shayne like she had, so she couldn’t go and give him shit. It’s not like the colonel meant to offend.

“If anyone could’ve survived that,” Schoonover paused. That neutral poker face of his was sliding back into place, save for the eyes. The fire in his eyes burned bright and angry. Courtney could imagine a younger Ray Schoonover taking up a gun and punishing the people responsible.

“It would be Shayne Topp.” The colonel finished the thought with a growl that gave away his calm and collected Marine officer’s façade. There was a time he was a battle-hardened grunt that shot and fought and killed. Not unlike Shayne.

Courtney watched the hardened colonel, who crossed his arms. Schoonover shook his head at the sight of the next body that was bagged and wheeled off.

“You don’t just kill a man like Shayne Topp.”

There was a conviction in the colonel’s voice when he said it. A certain unarguable certainty in the words. The colonel wasn’t giving opinion. He was stating fact. There was some comfort to be drawn from the finality of the way he said it.

The hollow numbness had already started to burrow in her heart and spread throughout her entire being, but she wanted to believe. If Schoonover, who’d known the man for most of his adult life, was sure he was out there, maybe he was. That numbness trickled down, giving way to a miniscule sense of optimism that dared to blossom.

Until the dental records proved otherwise, Courtney would follow Shayne’s words. She’d wait and hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading this chapter, folks! I hope you enjoyed this one! By popular demand, here's Damien! I hope you enjoyed his introduction to the story. I keep saying it, but things are really picking up, and I'm psyched to guide you guys through the succeeding chapters.


	18. Done Waiting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damien lies to a friend of a friend. Shayne grumbles his way to consciousness. With the colonel's words in mind, Courtney looks to the possibility of Shayne's survival.

The sound of jingling keys at the front door alerted Damien of his fiancé’s arrival. Evening had just fallen now, and Damien had been sitting in his living room in the chair next to the sofa. Shayne’s breathing had improved, but his pulse was still a little weak for his liking. Fortunately, there were no signs of his body fighting an infection. Shayne was on his way to a quick recovery if he would just give himself a break.

Damien wasn’t sure how he was going to break this to Alice. She’d been as supportive as could be when they took him in months ago. Shayne showed up limping in a hospital gown and looking like hell. After he left, Alice followed the trail of bodies Shayne left as closely as Damien had. Alice knew Shayne wasn’t just a psycho with a gun. She didn’t exactly approve of the things Shayne was doing, but she could understand.

Of course, now Shayne was technically a fugitive, even if the police and the media were saying he was presumed dead. Damien didn’t doubt that behind closed doors, scumbags were still searching for him.

“Dames,” Alice’s voice called from the front door as she let herself in, “You seen the news? Is it true? Is Shayne-”

She stopped at the entrance to their living room. Her dark brown eyes hopped back and forth between Damien and the bloody half-naked man on their plastic-tarped sofa. She ran a hand through her long dark hair as she took in the scene.

“Hey, babe.” Damien waved.

Her slack jaw closed after a moment, and she knocked her glasses back into place. She walked straight to their kitchen before she laid the questions on. Damien listened to the sound of their refrigerator opening, and bottle caps being popped off. Alice returned to the living room with two beers in hand and came to a stop by Shayne’s side. Her eyes travelled across his body and the numerous stitched up wounds marring his skin.

Alice handed Damien his bottle before asking with a concerned frown, “He – uh, he asked for help?”

Damien pursed his lips and nodded.

She handed Damien his bottle and took a big sip of her beer before setting it down on the crowded coffee table. Prior to today, the little table housed a remote control or two. Now the beer was joined by a bottle of whiskey, a box of surgical gloves, packs of bandages, disinfectants, painkillers, Shayne’s battered and unloaded gun, and Damien’s own gun. Alice took the time to sidle onto Damien’s lap, conscious of his leg as she did so. One of her arms snaked around his shoulders, while her other hand came to rest on his chest. Alice placed a kiss to the side of his head before pulling back to look at him.

“Been a while since you patched someone up like that, huh?”

Damien gave her a little smile, “Yeah, I think I got used to patching people up on the inside.”

There was a somewhat distant look in her eyes as she appeared to consider her next words. “I’m proud of you, you know that? Always so eager to help people. Whether it’s the vets in your support group or,” Alice motioned to Shayne, “Armed and dangerous fugitives who are presumed dead.”

Damien laughed quietly and shook his head at that. He found himself looking at the steady rise and fall of Shayne’s chest. “The cops on the news are calling Shayne a hero. They say if it weren’t for him, there’d be way more bodies.”

Alice gave him a grimace. She reached for the bottle on the table and took a sip before saying, “Lots of news outlets are overlooking that part. They’re saying the only reason the shooting happened was _because_ he was there. They say people died _because_ of him.”

Damien scoffed and took a sip of his own bottle before muttering, “Easy to say for the people that weren’t fighting for their lives beside him.”

“Well,” Alice shrugged, “That’s the media for you.” She eased off of Damien to stand up. Pulling her phone out, she asked, “Want me to order dinner in?”

“Perfect,” Damien grinned, “Order from that Thai place. At least we can get Shayne something he likes when he wakes.”

“Can do,” Alice began to walk off to their bedroom, “I’ll just get cleaned up.”

Damien listened to Alice placing the order over the phone while he continued to observe Shayne’s breathing. He periodically sipped from the bottle of beer as he watched for any hitches or irregularities in Shayne’s condition. Once she was done calling in the food, Alice slipped into the bathroom, and Damien heard the shower switch on.

A grumble from Shayne caught Damien’s attention. He leaned closer as his friend began to shift ever so slightly. Another mutter escaped Shayne’s lips, and he appeared to be shaking his head side to side.

Shayne was a dreamer – literally. Damien had encountered that in the many times he’d patched Shayne up while they served together. Shayne admitted that he saw his wife when things were bad. He figured this was one of those times. The strange part was the discomfort on Shayne’s face. Usually when Shayne was bloodied to shit and clinging on to life, his face was peaceful when he muttered and dreamt. Nicole had that effect on him both in the waking world and in his dreams. She brought with her a tranquility that was more powerful than any dose of morphine.

“You okay, bud?” Damien asked softly. There were times Shayne would mutter back in his state of mild delirium. They were usually inconsequential things, but he was surprisingly responsive to Damien’s voice. He’d usually mumble that Nicole looked nice in her wedding dress. That she was as pretty as ever. The kind of happy thoughts you’d hear from a lovestruck man after a great first date.

That’s why it blew Damien’s mind when Shayne in his half-conscious stupor grumbled, “Courtney.”

There was that name again. Damien had a running theory that just needed confirmation. _The People v Shayne Topp_ wasn’t televised as per Judge Batzer’s ruling. The media instead did their reporting outside the courthouse and gave the public the rundown of each day’s developments. Lots of times he’d tried to get into the gallery to watch the trial unfold firsthand, but they were always fully booked. He was stuck watching the developments on the news. Damien saw the times the press tried (and failed) to interview Leak and Grossman as they exited the building.

The two lawyers had two legal assistants, as far as he could tell. There wasn’t much information online on who either of the two women were. A month ago, a certain Ms. Olivia Sui reached out to him on behalf of Leak and Grossman. That meant she was the first paralegal. Damien had a hunch that Courtney was the second one. The question was why the fuck was Shayne mumbling the name of a woman from his legal defense team.

“Courtney? Not Nicole?”

There was another string of unintelligible mumbling before Damien could make out, “Nicole’s pissed.”

A frown, partly amused, partly concerned, set into Damien’s brow. “Why’s she pissed?”

Shayne was silent for a moment. His foot, propped up on that pillow and weighed down with an ice pack, twitched. He finally muttered, “Pushin’ people.”

Pushing people _away_ made the most sense to Damien. It was the same thing Shayne did to him and Alice before he started punishing, after all.

“She’s pissed because you’re pushing people away?”

There was a grunt that Damien interpreted as a hard maybe and a possible yes.

“Are you pushing Courtney away?” Damien tried.

Another series of unintelligible words grumbled out of Shayne, before Damien understood the words, “Want to.”

“Why?”

“Hurt.” Was Shayne’s simple mutter in response.

“You’re pushing Courtney away… so she doesn’t get hurt?”

His dazed grunt was one Damien could interpret as a yes. Before Damien could ask Shayne who this Courtney was to him, his phone began to vibrate. He paused their wistful conversation in favor of checking who was calling. His heart skipped a beat when he saw Colonel Ray Schoonover’s name on his phone’s display.

Damien and the colonel didn’t have the same bond that Shayne and his old commanding officer did. Damien’s own bond with Shayne was different. Damien served in the Navy as a corpsman and was embedded with Shayne’s unit. He didn’t have the same background and history with Schoonover. Damien simply came to know the man through Shayne. The last time Damien had spoken to the colonel was when he learned of the supposed drive-by that wiped out Shayne’s family.

If Schoonover was calling, then it had something to do with Shayne, who was a mumbling mess on his sofa. Knowing better than to snub a man that treated Shayne like family, Damien swiped his finger across the display.

“Evening, colonel.”

Damien watched Shayne stir some more at the mention of his old commanding officer. His eyes opened a crack, but they were glazed over and unseeing.

“Evening, Damien. How’re things? You and Alice doing okay?

The steady spray of the shower from the bathroom was still audible. With a slight shrug, Damien replied, “Yeah, we – uh – we’re all good here, colonel.”

“Have you heard the news?”

Damien nodded as he answered, “Yeah.”

“I got a feeling in my gut that says he’s alive, Damien. If he’d turn to anyone for help, I know it would be you.”

Shayne grunted another unintelligible grumble to himself under his breath before he shook his head vehemently. The lucidity was returning to the wounded Marine on his couch. Shayne’s hand limply came up in a gesture that clearly said _no_.

“He didn’t show up at your door lookin’ like hell, did he?”

“Dames,” Shayne mumbled, head still swinging side to side.

Damien frowned at Shayne as Schoonover went on, “I’d love to lend a hand in any way I can.”

Seeing the certainty in Shayne’s pained eyes, Damien lied through his teeth, “I wish that were the case, colonel. Shayne’s… gone. No one could’ve survived a blast like that.”

The colonel was silent for a time, before his voice rumbled as he cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, Damien. I…”

Damien could hear the clinking of ice against glass. The image of Schoonover with a scotch in hand, face twisted in sorrow was clear in Damien’s mind.

“I suppose I just got my hopes up. After everything Shayne’s been through, I…” There was another pause, and Damien could hear the quiet sipping of scotch over the line, “Hard to believe a car crash into a gas tanker is what does him in for good.”

Damien was silent while he watched Shayne slowly sit up with grit teeth. The colonel continued, “I know you two were like brothers. I understand this has got to be as hard on you as it is on myself.”

“I’m just,” Damien shrugged to himself as Shayne reached for the bottle of painkillers, “Trying to process things, I guess.”

Schoonover hummed, “Ms. Miller’s about as devastated as one could expect too.”

Damien connected the dots to the mysterious Courtney, “Taking it bad, huh?”

There was a quiet chuckle on the other end of the phone, “With how close those two seemed to have gotten, it’s no surprise. I’m just glad she has her friends to help her through this difficult time.”

If Damien’s interest had been piqued before, it was now fully awake, and he wanted to know more. Shayne had barely said more than three sentences during his time recovering in Damien’s home. After he spilled the beans of what happened in Central Park, he was all rage, fire, destruction, and harsh words. Damien couldn’t picture _that_ Shayne forming bonds with anyone that would lead to them being devastated by his presumed death.

“Me too, colonel. If you, uh – if you need anything, you let me know, okay?”

Shayne grimaced after he washed down the painkillers with a swig of whiskey. He then looked down at his state of undress then looked back up at Damien with confusion on his face.

“Thank you, Damien. I won’t take up any more of your time now. Have a good evening.”

“You too, colonel.”

Damien hung up and fixed his frown on Shayne. Before the latter could complain about his lack of clothes, Damien spoke first, “So, why did I just lie to your old commanding officer?”

Shayne looked away at that. With a lick of his lips, he turned back to Damien and offered a tentative smile, “If I answer that, will you give me some clothes? I know you Navy types like checkin’ each other out, but…”

Damien scoffed but couldn’t hold back the amused smile, “Want me to get you some crayons to snack on while I get the clothes?”

Shayne laughed, but shortly quieted down with a pained cough and a hand to his ribs. He shifted slightly and leaned into the sofa’s backrest. His face reset to a more serious expression as he stated, “People can’t know I’m alive.”

“Not even the colonel?” After a beat and a halfhearted shrug, Damien added, “Not even Courtney?”

“Where’d you hear that name?” It elicited a reaction out of Shayne, as Damien hoped. His battered friend’s eyes narrowed, and he looked as alert and suspicious as ever.

With an innocent shrug of his shoulders, Damien grinned, “Oh, you were just mumbling her name and making kissy noises. No big deal.”

“Damien,” Shayne’s low voice growled out in warning.

“No, I’m kind of serious about that one.” The lightheartedness of his earlier jabs was gone. Damien rested his arms on his knees as he said, “You were saying her name. More than once.”

Shayne scoffed, but it appeared directed at himself rather than at Damien. He could see the gears turning in Shayne’s head before he answered, “Schoonover’s in touch with my lawyers. If he finds out, they find out. Trial’s over – they don’t need to be involved in my shit anymore.”

“That why you’re on the run now? Rather be a fugitive than keep your lawyers involved?”

“Hm,” Shayne hummed and stared off at a nondescript spot on the wall. Eventually, he added, “Something like that.”

“They seemed like real good ones though, Shayne.” Damien swirled the bottle of beer around in contemplation, “Was that the right move? I thought you had a good thing going with them. With your _Courtney_ too.”

Shayne’s eyes avoided Damien’s, just as he avoided talking about Courtney. He wrung his hands together before elaborating, “Yeah they’re too good at their jobs. That’s exactly what’s gotten them in hot water. There’s been one attempt to take them out in prison, and the precinct shootout nearly got another one of ‘em.”

The prison attempt was news to Damien. He paused Shayne so he could pull that thread, “Wait, prison? What happened there?”

There was a twitch at the corner of Shayne’s eye. He licked his lips and made a point of unclenching his jaw, “The warden set up an ambush in the visitation room. Five shitbags were counting on the whole team being there. It was just me and one of the paralegals-”

“Courtney?”

The visible bob in his Adam’s apple was a sign Damien hit his mark. Shayne continued as if he hadn’t heard him, “We got jumped but fought ‘em off. It was a bloody goddamn mass. I saw less blood in that clusterfuck in the mountains.”

“Why’d the warden lay the trap?”

Shayne gave a half shrug, “People that put Nicole and Lizzy in the ground are trying to finish the job. The lawyers got targets on their backs now because of me”

The names jumped out at Damien. It must’ve been the first time he’d heard Shayne say their names (while conscious) since the start of this whole debacle. Before Shayne left to go on his hunt, he looked ready to fly into a murderous rage whenever Damien said their names out loud.

Shayne had changed. It was a growing suspicion from the moment Damien hauled him out of that trash heap. He’d changed when he lost his family, and he’d changed again – now that he sat here half-naked in Damien’s living room.

Before it all went down, Shayne was all laughs, jokes, and good times. When they got down to business, he was a fearless, efficient, and emphatic leader. But he was still the same old Shayne beyond his role as a staff sergeant. He still joked with his men, kept it light, and was fiercely protective over them.

When he showed up on his doorstep looking like hell – he was different, and understandably so. His sense of humor and any smiles or feelings of lightness were buried along with his family. He was a dark, lonely shell of his former self. Dozens of anxious ticks made themselves known whenever Shayne sat alone or in silence for too long. Shayne always had those back in the service, but they were nowhere near as pronounced as they were after the massacre in Central Park. Whether it was the occasional spasm at the corner of his eye, or a twitch of his nose, or his trigger finger’s erratic tapping – they’d all been amplified since the incident.

Shayne’s fury was dormant in the two months of his recovery. It bubbled just below the surface, enough that you could see it without him popping off. At any given moment, he looked ready to snap a piece of furniture in half or drive his fist into a wall. Sometimes, Damien thought the only reason he didn’t was because he was too physically weak to do so, or he respected him and Alice too much.

His final night only solidified what a different person he’d become because of the tragedy. Shayne never shouted, or yelled, or even poked people. If he did, it was over the deafening crack of gunfire. It was never in an argument. Shayne wasn’t the type to get heated. He wasn’t an intense person.

But this man sitting here on his plastic-wrapped sofa – Damien looked at Shayne. His hands were anxiously rubbing together. His sad eyes were settled on the cluttered coffee table. His usually proud shoulders were slumped.

Shayne looked like he’d progressed to a different stage of grief. If Damien had to guess, this mysterious Courtney had a hand in it. While the anger was still there, it was tempered by this aching sorrow and loneliness that Damien could see in his dim eyes. He looked lost and lonely and it concerned Damien to no end.

Eventually, Shayne spoke up again as a hardened frown set into his brow. “Leak and Grossman – they’re good people. I don’t want them getting hurt for helping me. The past few weeks, it’s like…” A thoughtful look crossed Shayne’s face, and he asked, “You remember that Forward Operating Base in Kandahar?”

Damien did. That was a shitshow of the highest order. The FOB was being hit by mortar fire day in, day out. Command wanted to add some muscle to the unit assigned to the base. Shayne’s platoon, along with Damien, happened to be the chosen muscle. The lieutenant that commanded Shayne’s platoon was typically embroiled with whatever officer’s business was going on with the higher ups. It left Shayne or Billy in charge of the men, more often than not.

“You remember that night? On the roof of that one house with the weird five by five pits? Like it was almost meant to withstand artillery?” An almost fond, wistful smile came across Shayne’s lips. Damien didn’t blame him. As hellish as war could be, Damien couldn’t deny that he felt most alive and purposeful while in the service.

“Yeah. We were listening to the mortars.”

“That sound – y’know, you never forget that sound,” Shayne’s lips pursed and formed an o-shape, “ _Thwoong!_ ”

Damien huffed out a chuckle at the flawless reenactment, “Yeah. Sounds right.”

“You remember we were up there with Billy? We heard three of those go off. Could even kinda make out the smoke trails they left.”

“Mhm,” Damien hummed, “Bill asked if he thought we could get off the building and get back to the command post before they hit.”

Shayne’s smile widened at the memory – probably amused at Bill’s expense, “He was getting worried, huh? Billy the beaut worried about his pretty face.” Shayne laughed quietly, “I told him, no way we’re getting back.”

“We waited for them to hit. It was safer there than crossing the open space to get back to command.”

Damien watched the smile fade from Shayne’s face as he thought of the incident further. With a clearing of his throat, Shayne said, “In those moments, y’know – waiting for those three mortar shells to land – it’s this…”

“Anxiety,” Damien offered.

“Yeah. Never know if the next shell is landing two hundred meters away, or two meters away.” Shayne frowned as the steady tap of his trigger finger against his knuckles started back up, “That’s what this trial’s been like ever since the prison hit.”

Shayne was silent as he worked out the thoughts in his undoubtedly jumbled mind. Damien took a sip from his beer as he patiently waited for Shayne.

“I guess I’ve been swallowing down that fear for a while now, but it’s always been there, y’know? It’s like this whole time I’ve just been waiting for those assholes to try and take their shot at her-” Shayne cleared his throat, “Take their shot at Leak and Grossman.”

Damien allowed Shayne his slip up, since he didn’t seem to want to talk about the woman for now. Damien had a feeling he knew where this conversation was going, so he added, “We went over that hill the next day and took out those mortar crews.”

Shayne nodded. “I’m done waiting for the next mortar.” The determination and steely conviction in Shayne’s eyes were a familiar sight to Damien. “I’m gonna find them, Damien. I’m gonna kill them all.”

Such a sentiment would probably unsettle or unnerve other people. To Damien, it was just quintessentially Shayne. He figured he should’ve seen this coming. No jail or court would hold a man like him down. It was to be expected that he’d get out one way or another and finish what he started.

“Of course you will,” Damien cracked a small smile, “You’re Shayne Topp.”

* * *

The rest of the evening passed in a hazy blur for Courtney. There was an abundance of hugs from her two friends and bosses at Smosh, and the trio of Leak and Grossman. Not much was said in those moments. Nobody quite knew what could be said after everything that happened. Everyone was still trying to process how just earlier that day they kicked ass in the courthouse and bonded over coffee.

Victory over the trial of the century was in sight before Shayne’s presumed untimely demise put a hard stop to it. After hearing Schoonover’s certainty over his survival, the grief in Courtney’s chest had quieted down. There was a lingering numbness, but it was nowhere near as soul-wrenching as the onset had felt. It was like her heart had put her emotions on pause until the worst was confirmed. Grief could wait. For now, Courtney held the possibility of his survival close to her heart.

Keith, Noah, and Olivia weren’t yet keyed in to Schoonover and Courtney’s current headspace of Shayne’s surviving the explosion. As far as they were concerned, the trial was over. Keith explained that with his death, his criminal liability to the state, and any personal liability to the deceased’s next of kin, were gone. You don’t bring a dead man to trial. As saddened as the trio was by Shayne’s death, it was matched by the frustration of all their work having gone to waste by Shayne’s supposed death. Reyes got her way in the end. Shayne may not be behind bars, but he was either in the ground or in hiding.

Ian drove Courtney and Max home while Anthony stayed at the scene to get more statements. There was a vague sense of déjà vu to the drive. The only thing missing was the deep dread in the pit of her stomach from the last time this scene played out. Olivia, Keith, and Noah split off as well and decided to reconvene tomorrow now that they weren’t sure what to do with themselves. Schoonover went home as well. Courtney suspected he was going to do some poking of his own to try and find out where Shayne had gone, if he really was still out there.

Courtney pointedly avoided the street vendor selling Punisher merch at the foot of her building’s entrance. She got back to her apartment with Max, and Ian was on his way before long. He wanted to give Courtney the space she needed to deal with all of this. Courtney thought she’d be up all night, unable to sleep. She assumed it was a given since her mind was racing with the possibility that he was still out there. In the end, that didn’t happen. After showering the blood and grime off, she passed out earlier than she’d ever slept in years. What was unsurprising to her were the nightmares.

The thundering bellow of gunfire plagued her dreams. The devastating bark of her shotgun and its kick against her shoulder were burned into her memory. She could hear the snap of Matt’s rifle and see the flare of its muzzle flash in the dim lights. The thud of the Cartel soldiers hitting the bloodstained tile floors echoed down the foreboding halls. Shayne’s endlessly sorrowful eyes bore into her soul.

Courtney woke up in the middle of the night more than once. Sometimes it was due to a stray round splintering into her skull. Sometimes it was Shayne diving in front of her to catch another torrent of bullets. Only this time he didn’t make it.

Each time, Courtney sat up gasping for breath and Max rubbed up against her in an almost cat-like manner. His comforting licks and steady presence helped ease her panicked heart and her labored lungs. Each time, Courtney imagined Shayne there in bed with her. It was a selfish thought to have him all to herself when she had no claim over him. No right to him.

Shayne was either dead or in hiding, and there was no telling if or when she’d see him again. Even if she did, Courtney didn’t yet know what she’d do. A part of her wanted to selfishly kiss him and hold him down and not allow him to leave.

They were stupid thoughts. Courtney didn’t allow herself to entertain the fleeting images for long. Her jumbled mess of feelings for Shayne were difficult to pick apart and understand. The only thing in her mind that was clear and infallible was that she cared for him greatly and wanted what was best for him. She wanted him to finally be safe and happy and live without a target on his back or a gun under his pillow.

The memory of his warm, sturdy weight pressed against her was what lulled Courtney back to sleep. She stopped caring for the time being if it was a selfish fantasy to indulge herself with. The image and feeling of Shayne’s broad form enveloping her in bed was the only thing that brought her peace these days. This night was no different.

In the morning, Courtney sat curled up on her sofa with a coffee cup in hand, Max’s comforting presence by her side. The news was abuzz with three main points. First was the grisly precinct shootout’s coverage. Shaky camera recordings from nearby buildings captured some of the action that unfolded the previous day.

Second was the Punisher’s presumed death in the massive explosion that engulfed the intersection. There was little footage if any leading to the crash, save for the explosion itself when it went off.

Third was the trial of the century’s abrupt end. Legal experts joined the anchors to discuss the highlights of the trial now that it was over. In a pleasant turn of events, there was heavy praise for Leak and Grossman and their ability to hold onto the EED defense. It wasn’t a commonly used mitigating factor due to the difficulty in its execution, but they had done a stellar job. It was almost universally agreed that the defense had the trial in the bag. Far and wide, they were being hailed as brilliant legal minds for the job they did. Courtney wouldn’t be surprised if they’d start overflowing with clients soon.

On the news, the reporter addressed an officer.

“The others here are calling Shayne Topp a hero, do you agree?”

The woman being interviewed was one of the officers that survived the attack on the precinct. Her name – Officer Sarah Fisher – was displayed at the bottom of the screen. They stood in front of the bullet-riddled 15th precinct as repairs and cleanup were underway.

“Topp is the only reason I’m standing here right now. He was a leader and a fighter, and we wouldn’t be alive if it weren’t for him.”

One man was sweeping up the spent brass casings littering the precinct. He wore a fresh, blood and dirt-free uniform as he turned to the camera. The name Officer Ryan Bunch flashed on the bottom of the screen.

“What did Shayne Topp do to help?”

“He, uh – he rallied us together, y’know? Organized us and set up defensive lines. Then when that wasn’t enough, he fought those guys by himself.” Bunch frowned as his eyes appeared to look past the camera for a moment. When his eyes regained focus, he added, “I got to see my wife again thanks to that guy.”

The rest of the officers shared the same sentiments. The words hero and leader were thrown around. After hearing more of the same, Courtney flipped to a different station.

She had the luxury of time to do so. If it weren’t a weekend, Ian would’ve probably told Courtney just the same not to come into work. Courtney’s weekends were more of a haze than she liked to admit. The past month or so, her weekends had consisted of visits to Shayne in Rikers, and more prep work with Leak and Grossman. Now that the trial was a bust, Courtney wasn’t sure what to do.

On the news, they were interviewing the officers who were injured in the attack. Matt was already discharged with a giant cast around his left wrist. The doctors were optimistic his thumb would make a full recovery, but it was out of action for a good two to three months with how mangled it had gotten.

A lady in a hospital gown was being interviewed inside her in-patient room. Running across the bottom of the TV’s display was her name – Officer Monika Pearson.

“Do you think that Detective Raub made the right decision in releasing a dangerous man like Topp?”

The look that crossed Pearson’s face was a mix of confusion and annoyance, “Yeah, without a doubt.”

“Wasn’t it risky to release a convicted killer and give him access to weapons?”

Pearson looked downright angry as she replied, “Topp’s trial was still underway. He’s not convicted of anything.” She sat up on the hospital bed as she declared, “That man you’re calling a killer saved my life. He saved all of our lives.”

Courtney’s phone gave a harsh vibration on her lap and caught her attention. Anthony’s name and picture flashed on the broken screen. After lowering the TV’s volume, Courtney answered the call.

“Morning, boss.”

“Hey, morning,” Anthony cleared his throat, “How you holdin’ up?”

There was a part of Courtney that felt almost dumb for not feeling the grief anymore. It had built up watching the smoldering bodies being pulled from the fire. But the colonel’s pep talk thoroughly disarmed it and sent it simmering down. Maybe it was denial. Maybe it was all just false hope. Courtney couldn’t make much sense of it. There was an absence of dread in her heart that came with the belief that Shayne was alive and out there.

Anthony went on as Courtney lost herself in her thoughts, “I just – y’know – you and Shayne got pretty close.”

“I’m dealing with it. Thanks for checking in.”

“I know how much you like to dive into work to deal with things,” Anthony said, “Ian suggested you write up a profile.”

“A profile?” Courtney shifted on the couch and rubbed at Max’s head as she spoke, “A profile of Shayne?”

“Yeah. I figured it would be a good way for you to deal with it, and… well, y’know – continue telling his story. The last piece you wrote was a big hit, but you only focused on what happened to his family. Now there’s not much more bite to an in-depth story of the trial of the century when there _is_ no trial.”

Anthony let the idea sink in before continuing, “This time, you can tell the world about who Shayne Topp was in life. A war hero, a father, a husband, a good friend – all of that. Memorial piece, y’know?”

It was a lovely idea, but there was one problem.

Shayne was out there. The more Courtney thought about the idea, the stranger it felt. The certainty in her bones that Shayne was alive was doubling by the second. Writing a memorial article for a living man wasn’t right.

When Courtney got out of bed today, she didn’t really know what to do with herself. She was on autopilot when she made herself coffee, and up until she decided to make breakfast too. Skipping the most important meal of the day was something Shayne nagged her for far too often. Today, her avocado toast and cup of Macrogurt were dedicated to him. Apart from that, she’d felt pretty aimless. Now, with Ian’s suggestion, a new drive was setting into place.

It wasn’t the drive to write a memorial piece, but to find where the hell Shayne had gone after the Cartel and (she assumed) the heroin kingpin’s men tried to capture him.

“Anthony, promise you won’t call me crazy.” Courtney bit her lip. She knew how this would sound.

“I promise to definitely try.”

Courtney spat the words out before she could second guess herself, “What if he’s alive?”

There was a pregnant pause before Anthony started, “Court…”

“Dude, think about it. Shayne’s been through hell and back, but he just keeps popping up and soldiering on.”

“Courtney, the guy couldn’t shoot or punch an explosion.”

“He could punch or shoot whoever captured him,” Courtney shrugged, even if Anthony wouldn’t see it, “He could’ve bailed out of the van before it went off. If anyone could’ve survived the tumble, it would be him.”

“If he survived, then why wasn’t he found at the scene?”

Courtney hadn’t thought about it up until this moment. When she did, she realized how obvious the answer to it was. “He’s gonna finish what he started with the gangs. He’ll find whoever else was involved.”

She left out the part where he was probably running away from her like the self-sacrificing asshole he was.

Anthony’s hum over the phone was more thoughtful than disbelieving. “He like, inadvertently faked his death then? That way he can continue his war without people looking for him?”

Courtney nodded as she affirmed, “It’s possible. Like, the gangs would eventually figure it out, but it buys him some time to mount the attack.”

A sigh came from the other end of the line before Anthony said, “Pull that thread then. Find the people responsible for the massacre and you find Shayne pursuing them.”

“But,” Anthony added, “I want you to prepare for that memorial piece in case… y’know.”

“Yeah, I could do that,” Courtney idly looked over at her bag and the notepad within, “I could make a few calls to learn a little more about Shayne from before. Digging into the truth is bound to be slow, so I can multi-task that.”

“Great to hear, Court. You hear about the memorial they’re holding?”

Her heart did a tiny jump. “Uh – no, no I haven’t.”

“There’s an impromptu thing going on in Central Park by the carousel. Someone printed out a tarp of your boy Shayne. People are gathering to put down candles, flowers, even bullets from what I hear.”

The last part caught Courtney off guard. A quiet laugh slipped past her lips before she asked, “Yeah? For real?”

“For real, Court. Give it a look. Maybe the walk will help get those creative juices flowing.”

Anthony was right about that one. After finishing her coffee, Courtney hopped in the shower and got ready for her day. She tossed on a denim jacket to deal with the Autumn chill and was on her way. There was a renewed sense of vigor in each step she took. Max was leashed and padding along by her side, tongue out and smiling at every passerby on the path.

Central Park was a bit of a walk away from her little apartment in Hell’s Kitchen, but she didn’t mind. Courtney hadn’t been to the gym in a while with all the excitement going on. She needed the exercise. A lethal brawl with inmates and surviving a shootout in a police station did not count.

The streets were busy at this hour in the morning, with people rushing to work, and others probably already late to work. Courtney took her time and let Max enjoy himself as they strolled along. By the time she was nearing one of the park’s entrances, she could already see it was more crowded than usual. Normally you’d find a fair number of joggers, cyclists, and the occasional yoga class. Now, there was a noticeable number of people in everyday clothing walking in a particular direction.

Courtney mingled with the small crowd as they meandered through the park’s pathways. She caught the occasional snippet here and there of why they were visiting Shayne’s memorial.

Some had a relative who he’d saved one way or another. A sizeable number were off duty police officers. They had a newfound respect for Shayne after what happened at the 15th. Others were here simply because they believed in his brand of lethal justice. Many visitors sympathized with his story and were angry at the government’s failure to deliver justice to his family. By and large, when people learned of Shayne’s actions at the precinct, they believed he had gone down as a martyr.

Autumn looked as though it would give way to a chilly winter by the rate things were going. Courtney pulled her jacket tighter around her figure as she and the small crowd reached the carousel. It was shuttered today to give way to the humble memorial. The red and white brick edifice stood out against the trees and the foliage surrounding it. At this time of year, the green leaves were already beginning to turn to their golden and orange hues.

The closed down ticket booth at the center gave way to a tarp stand. Shayne’s calm and collected portrait was proudly on display. His youthful features shone through with the noticeable lack of a worried furrow in his brow. The top of his dress blues was crisp and fitting. Shayne was a goddamn knockout in that picture, and he still was. Her heart swooned at the sight of him.

There were a few hundred people gathered in this area in the park. Many were dressed up like it were any ordinary day. Courtney was quick to take note of how the rest were dressed in an abundance of black. A glance or two confirmed they were wearing Shayne’s unofficial merch. White skulls struck out against the deep black of their shirts.

Dozens of lit candles dotted the ground around the tarp stand. Spread a safe distance away from the candles were the bouquets of flowers. There was a wide assortment of them – roses, tulips, sunflowers, and a dozen others that Courtney wouldn’t even try to name. Intermingling with the flowers were sparkly glints reflecting the morning sun. These were somehow the much more appropriate tributes. Bullets of all sorts of calibers, 5.56mm, 7.68mm, 9mm, .45, .380 – you name it, and they were scattered along the ground.

There were a few individuals that stood out. They took their spots closer to the tarp and the front of the crowd. They proudly wore Shayne’s skull on their chests and were toting rifles and tactical vests. Some had patches indicative of military service. Courtney figured they were the unofficial security behind the gathering. They were here to make sure nobody tried to vandalize or disrupt the little memorial.

Courtney stuck to the edges of the crowd. She was never one for getting all squished up with so many people, especially with Max by her side. The overgrown pup sat next to her as she observed the throng of people.

They walked into the area. They left tributes – bullets, flowers, candles. They talked and got to know each other, since there were numerous reasons for being here. Some took pictures before they left. Others simply made a quiet departure after spending a little time in solidarity with the gathered people.

At one point, the crowd shifted just right, and Courtney got a good look at who stood right next to the tarp. Up until now, she’d been hanging back to steer clear of the thick of things to avoid the density of the crowd. All Courtney needed to see were the bandages on the tall man’s bespectacled face to tell who he was. It was Officer Martin. There was no need to be surprised when Courtney thought about it. The man was always sympathetic towards Shayne. That had only multiplied exponentially when Shayne gave himself up to ensure his safety.

When Max began to lie down by her feet, Courtney realized they’d been standing and watching for a good while. She ushered the dog over to a shaded bench a short distance away from the carousel memorial. She took a seat and set her bag onto her lap. Her trusty .380 was pushed to the side so she could draw the collapsible water bowl within. It was plopped onto the ground and filled up, allowing Max to lap away at the water. Courtney lazily scratched the back of his head as she turned her attention back to the ongoing gathering.

The only thing missing were pictures of Nicole and Lizzy. Those were likely less publicly available, so their absence was understandable. Courtney wondered if, wherever he was, he would’ve liked this little memorial.

Courtney felt the quiet chuckle escape her lips before she could stop it. She knew him better than that. _Like_ wouldn’t be the term he’d use, for sure. He’d probably be a little weirded out. His quick wit would cover up the fact he was humbled and embarrassed. He’d avoid eye contact with her at all costs while that half-smile crept up to his lips.

She idly wondered if the colonel might drop by to visit the memorial. After a moment’s thought, Courtney doubted it. A reserved man like that would probably be uncomfortable around a crowd that size. Besides, the colonel was the one that was so certain Shayne was still out there. He was the reason Courtney was sitting here and not bawling her eyes out. Schoonover was probably being proactive and figuring out where Shayne was holed up. The colonel likely had an idea who Shayne would turn to since he was likely battered, and needed that bullet taken care of.

Dyed blue hair and a hefty olive drab trauma kit flashed into Courtney’s mind.

Her phone was in her hands before she knew it. Her fingers danced across the splintered screen to send Olivia a message to request for Haas’ number. Courtney couldn’t believe she hadn’t thought of it sooner. The only people Shayne trusted from his life before the massacre were Schoonover and Haas. The latter was a corpsman – a medic – so it only made sense that Shayne would seek him out for help.

When Courtney’s phone buzzed with the forwarded contact, her heart did a little summersault. This was her ticket to finding Shayne.

_Wait and hope_ , Shayne would say. She was done waiting. Now was time to act and hope.

Courtney hit the dial button and raised the phone up to her ear.

After a couple of rings, a smooth voice answered the call.

“Hello?”

Courtney held back the almost hysterical smile that wormed its way up to her face. This was her lead. This was it.

“Hi, is this Damien Haas?”

There was an uncertain pause on the other end. Eventually, he answered, “Yes, speaking. Who’s this?”

“This is Courtney Miller. Is Shayne there?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all, thanks for reading this chapter! Let me know what you thought of this one! Our girl just up and called Damien! See how well (or poorly) Damien reacts to the unexpected call in the next chapter. The ball's rolling at full speed, folks! We're reaching the points in this story I've had mapped out and bullet-pointed since its formulation, so I'm writing some of these pretty quickly. The next chapter's draft is already going through revisions, then that'll be ready. It's a meaty one and I'm eager to share it with you. Lots of major developments head, and I'm just really excited in general. Thanks for sticking it with me through these 18 long chapters. I hope you've enjoyed the ride so far and are buckled up for what's to come. Have a great day!


	19. Sending a Message

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damien tends to his day job in between babysitting Shayne. Leak and Grossman face off with their long-time rival. Courtney follows a lead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some graphic violence ahead, but I'm sure you're all used to that by now.

The water spewed out of Damien’s mouth and all over Shayne who sat across from him at the dining table. Shayne looked at his soaked meal and then at him with a mixture of disgust and shock. His mouth opened to ask what that was all about but was stopped when Damien raised a finger up to his sputtering lips.

“Mr. Haas? You okay?”

Damien forcefully cleared his throat to expel the last drops of water that went down the wrong pipe. He helplessly watched Shayne, who dabbed at his face and hoodie with a paper towel.

“Uh – yeah, yeah. All good, ma’am.” Damien answered with a decided lack of certainty in his tone. Shayne observed Damien with a suspicious glint in his eye as he poked at his waterlogged Thai leftovers.

“Is this a bad time?” Courtney asked over the line.

Shayne was raising his soppy noodles up to his mouth while he watched the exchange. Damien cleared his throat once more as he answered, “Not at all, ma’am. Just – uh – caught me off guard.”

There was silence on the other end of the phone for a moment, save for what Damien guessed to be the gentle blowing of wind, and the singsong chirping of birds.

“Mr. Haas, I know you two were close. I thought if he’d turn to anyone, maybe he’d turn to you.” The fact that that appeared to be such public knowledge made Damien uneasy. If Schoonover and the mysterious Courtney were able to put two and two together, there was no telling who else could.

Damien begrudgingly realized the connection couldn’t be that difficult to make for anyone who truly searched for it. He was Shayne’s only one-legged blue-haired friend with a combat and medical background. Not exactly hard to pick him out.

Damien tried to reestablish control over the situation. “Please, ma’am, call me Damien.”

Before he could continue, the woman matched him in kind, “Call me Courtney, Damien.”

Shayne was leaning in now, damp noodles forgotten. His head was tilted to the side to try and get a better read on the voice on the phone. At the corner of his eye, he continued to watch Damien. The man probably already deduced who was on the other end.

Damien made a show of heaving a heavy sigh into the receiver, “I’m sorry, Courtney.” He glanced at the twitch in Shayne’s eye before continuing, “Shayne was like a brother to me. I…”

He audibly gulped in an attempt to play up the drama, “I wish he turned to me, y’know? I always told him he didn’t have to do this alone. Maybe if he accepted my help, we wouldn’t have lost him.”

Damien ignored the glare Shayne fixed him with. He instead listened to Courtney’s levelled reply, “I just… can’t believe he’s gone. How are you holding up?”

He blinked once and scrambled to reply appropriately, “I’m just coming to terms with it, I guess.”

There was a hum over the line that bordered on doubting.

Fuck.

“I-it’s rough. After everything he’s been through,” Damien mimicked Schoonover’s words from the night prior, “It’s crazy to think that a fireball is what does him in.”

The silence on the other end intensified the sense of unease in Damien’s gut. It was the same kind of discomfort he felt right before he lost his leg. It was the feeling knowing that he was done for – that someone (in this case, Courtney) had figured him out.

Damien went into damage control in case she decided to visit, “I – uh – I’m out of town for a bit, but feel free to call me here. If you really think he’s out there and you find any… any leads, I’d be happy to help you find him.”

“Weren’t you scheduled to testify on Monday before the trial was cancelled?”

Damien cursed under his breath and quickly clarified, “I’m getting back tomorrow.”

Courtney was silent for a beat, then said, “Okay. Thank you for your time, Damien.”

“Have a good day, ma’am.”

Damien hung up before he made the situation any worse. He looked up to find Shayne already studying him through squinted eyes.

“That was your girlfriend.”

Shayne scoffed, turning his attention back to his food.

“You don’t seem so shocked that she’s asking for you like you’re alive.” Damien watched the tiniest tug at the corner of Shayne’s lips.

“Of course she’s figuring it out,” He muttered to himself, before adding, “She’s sharp. She was bound to suspect it eventually.”

Unsurprisingly, Shayne then evaded the discussion about the elusive Courtney Miller before it could really begin. He finished his food and stood up, taking the trash with him. Shayne limped over to the kitchen to dump the remains of the takeout box. Damien was about to press for more information when his phone went off again. One look at the display told him it was a reminder and not a call. He had to go setup at St. John’s.

Damien used the table for support as he got up onto stiff feet. As much as he wanted to stay and help Shayne, there were vets out there that needed him just as much. Shayne contained the wincing as he slowly walked back over to the sofa to lie down.

“I got group in a bit. Need to setup the venue,” Damien took cautious steps to the front door to pick up his coat. “You better still be lying down when I get back.”

Shayne shifted from his spot on the sofa, but let out a quiet chuckle, and a firm, “Yes, sir.”

After strapping his 1911 to his concealed carry holster, Damien left. On the road back to the church, Damien’s mind went back to Shayne. The guy didn’t appear eager to divulge much more information about Courtney, so Damien figured he might have to walk Shayne into a corner to get answers. Last night, he and Alice sat with Shayne in the living room as he halfheartedly poked into his chicken Pad Thai. He didn’t have much of an appetite thanks to the pain. It was a quiet dinner, but not a terribly uncomfortable one. Alice and Damien mostly filled the silence, while Shayne occasionally asked about one thing or another. They avoided talking about the trial or the shootout for the time being.

After that, Damien helped Shayne limp into the bathroom where he could get a little cleaned up. Once he changed into a hoodie and some sweats, he returned to the now plastic-free sofa. Shayne downed more painkillers and a swig or two of whiskey and promptly passed out. Before he did, Damien got Shayne’s blessing to head over to his house to pick up some clothes and a pair of boots. It wasn’t a long drive away, especially at that late hour of the night.

He used his spare key to gain access to the front door. More than once, he felt a chill run down his back as he crossed through the threshold. Damien hadn’t been back in the Topp residence since before that fateful day in Central Park. The air was thick, and he could still see Lizzy sitting on the piano bench alongside Nicole.

When Damien reached the back, the broken glass littering the floor made his heart jump up into his throat. Damien drew his .45 and went room to room to make sure it was secure. Once he was certain the house was empty, he proceeded with the task at hand. Whoever broke in was long gone. Damien then picked up the combat boots by the stairs, then some clothes from his room.

Damien didn’t put the pieces together up until this moment on the drive to St. John’s, even if it was a wild hunch. Maybe it was the infamous Courtney that broke in.

But he didn’t have time to dwell on that now. He parked in his usual spot outside the church and got to work. Damien spared a glance at the trash heap he extracted Shayne from the previous day.

This was routine for Damien now. When he wasn’t selling insurance and using his prosthetic leg as a convincing prop, he was trying to get his small Twitch streaming channel off the ground. When he wasn’t doing that, he was tending to the veterans in his counseling and support group. The two aforementioned part-time gigs paid for the rent of the small church’s function room.

Before he lost his leg, he figured he could get into the healthcare industry. There was always a demand for a capable, experienced pair of hands. Then, life happened, and Damien gained a new perspective.

The grief of losing a limb was indescribably painful. It took over a year to adjust to the prosthetics. The phantom pain wasn’t a goddamn phantom at all. It was real and present and unnervingly so. There were times he still felt the leg. More often than not, he still fumbled with the new leg and the frustrations it brought.

It was through that experience that Damien realized there were veterans out there that had it as bad as him, if not worse. They struggled with their demons that followed them from the war, and they lacked a support system to deal with it. That was how Damien wound up forming this support group to help the vets; give them the help that he sorely needed during his time recovering.

Alice was an angel – the most supportive he could’ve hoped for during those dark days. But she hadn’t seen the things he had. There would always be things she couldn’t relate to as clearly, which is where talking to other veterans helped. The therapy went both ways, too. When he spoke to the troubled vets, it was like speaking to himself.

Damien got the coffee machine going, and took his time setting up the foldable steel chairs into a circle in the function room. When his phone buzzed that it was time, the veterans began to file in, right on cue. They greeted him fondly, shaking his hand before moving on to grab a coffee. Damien watched the familiar faces march in, idly musing of how he’d never met anyone in the service that had an aversion to coffee.

Soon enough, they were all gathered into their small circle. Most folks Damien was already familiar with. He recognized vets from the Army, Marines, Airforce, and Navy. There was one new face, which Damien acknowledged. He avoided putting the young man on the spot.

“I see a couple new faces here today. Welcome. I’m glad you joined us. If you want to talk, talk. If you just want to listen, that’s fine by us. No judgment here. We’re all just brothers and sisters who understand.”

The session went by like most. The usual talkers talked – like O’Connor who served in Vietnam. He never failed to remind them of the tyrannical government and how the time would come they’d have to defend themselves. He preached that the next war would be here on American soil. The liberals and the democrats were ruining the country and all that. As irritating as the man was, he had as much of a right to speak as the other veterans. One of the others – Isaac – gave his usual rebuttal, which was nearly routine at this point. Damien didn’t miss how the new kid appeared to be hanging on to every word O’Connor had to say.

A few people spoke up once the politics were out of the way. Some talked about the people they lost. Others opened up about how they themselves felt lost. Coming back from war tended to have that effect. If Damien wasn’t so hung up on the loss of his leg at the time of his discharge, he probably would’ve been hung up on leaving the service instead. Acclimating to civilian life was a difficult process.

After a little over an hour, the formal session wrapped up. The gathered veterans assisted Damien in folding up the chairs and returning them. They stayed for a while, chatting more casually over fresh cups of coffee. Damien fondly watched the small group interact, peeping in every now and then to add to the conversations as he passed by. He was able to get a word in with the young new face. His name was Lewis Wilson, from the 1st Infantry Division in the Army. The guy wasn’t much of a talker, but Damien learned he took to driving a cab after his discharge, and that his father convinced him to come to the group.

It was midway through the afternoon by the time the last few vets left the room and Damien was on his way home. To his delight, Shayne was still on the sofa when he got back. The only sign that he’d gotten up was the fresh pot of hot coffee on the kitchen island, and the now warm mug on the table next to him. Damien shut the door behind him with a gentle push, causing Shayne to stir.

“Hey, Dames.” Shayne muttered.

Damien hung his coat on the rack as he asked, “How ya feelin’, buddy?”

“Better,” Shayne let out a quiet groan as he sat up. He wriggled his limbs experimentally, as if testing their functionality. “I’ll be out of your hair soon.”

He locked up the front door and leveled Shayne with an incredulous expression over his shoulder. “You just got here, man.”

Shayne waved a hand to dismiss him and reached for the mug on the coffee table, “Longer I stay here, the more danger I put you and Alice in.”

“Shayne,” Damien’s voice was bordering on scolding as he eased into the chair next to the sofa.

“The press, the cops, the _justice system_ might think I’m dead. Assholes who shot up the precinct might not think so.”

Damien couldn’t argue with that, so he instead turned the topic back to his earlier line of thinking. Before Shayne darted out of the house to _protect_ Damien and Alice, he wanted to learn more about Courtney Miller.

“Y’know when I passed by your house last night, the back door was broken into.”

Shayne’s unfazed expression as he sipped from the mug of coffee spoke volumes.

“That – uh – was that you? When you first got out of the hospital?” Damien leaned in towards the sofa slightly, already knowing the answer.

The blonde man before him shrugged as he replied, “No.”

“Was that Courtney?”

Shayne licked his lips and set the coffee down with an air of exasperation. “Yeah, it was her.”

Damien huffed an almost disbelieving chuckle, “So, all this time, you haven’t been back to your own house – but she has?”

His blue eyes darted away for a split second when he answered, “She needed to grab some things for me. For the trial.”

It was a half-truth if he ever saw one.

“Shayne,” Damien leaned in some more, “She called my personal phone. If you’re trying to keep me clear of your shitstorm, it’s a bit too late for that.”

When met with more silence, Damien changed tactics, “We’re out in the shit and taking enemy fire – what do you do?”

Shayne’s face scrunched up in confusion, “What?”

“Do you withhold information from your men? Keep your cards close to your chest?”

With a sigh, he shook his head, “No. They’re in the loop.”

“Then keep me in the loop, buddy. We’re in this together, _at least_ for the time being.”

Damien watched Shayne’s trigger finger play its erratic rhythm against his lap for a moment. Finally, he conceded.

“She’s a reporter. She writes for Smosh.”

All the gears clicked, and all the lightbulbs flared off above Damien’s head. “She’s Karen Page?”

“Yup,” Shayne popped out the _p_.

“And she… what, works part time with Leak and Grossman?”

Shayne grunted with a shake of his head, “Working as the paralegal is her cover. Gives her a chance to work the stories up close, like the trial. That’s how we met – the second time, anyway.”

“What was the first?” Damien asked.

To Damien’s surprise, Shayne laughed under his breath, a sheepish look on his face. “I – uh – I kinda chased her around Metro-General with a shotgun.”

“You really know how to make a first impression, huh?”

Courtney must be one hell of a person if Shayne was able to _laugh_ about the incident. Damien hadn’t seen Shayne laugh since before the massacre at Central Park.

“After that, she started digging into who I was. Found out about the bullet I took to the head – all that. She broke into my house to learn more about me. I got arrested and wheeled off to the hospital, and that’s when we met again.”

It was certainly clearing some things up, but not everything. Damien asked, “Why’s she so invested? I don’t see Leak and Grossman calling me up to see if you’re hiding under my roof.”

Shayne shrugged as he answered, “We bonded, I guess.” His eyes were staring vacantly at the table. His brows pitched together for a split second in a manner Damien could only see as lonely and longing. Shayne licked his lips and added, “Connected.”

“That’s why you want to push her and your lawyers away?”

He grumbled, but confirmed, “Safer for them. Trial’s over. Dead men don’t need trials.”

Shayne demonstrated his skillful ability in rapidly switching topics, “Courtney reminds me of Gosnell. You remember Gosnell – Schoonover’s guy? Light blonde hair?”

There were a vague couple of memories here and there. Gosnell was part of another platoon, so they only crossed paths a handful of times. He was a Marine, so Shayne knew him better.

At Damien’s pause, Shayne filled the silence, “They’re both like,” He huffed a chuckle, “Like dogs with a bone. Once they get their teeth into something, they don’t let it go. There’s that… trustworthiness and determination.”

There was a distant look in Shayne’s eyes when he explained, “An IED blast made Gosnell leave half his face on the side of a dirt road. After half a year of recovery, he refused the discharge. He went right back to serving in Schoonover’s unit. When the colonel retired and Gosnell’s time in the Corps was up, he still followed him. He works with the colonel in that consultancy business of his.” He was quiet for a beat, and added, “That kind of loyalty and kinship is hard to come by.”

Damien leaned back into his chair and studied Shayne. His walls were coming back up. He could tell Shayne wasn’t too keen on spilling his guts about Courtney, since he was deflecting with this story. He wouldn’t force it. Damien knew that she was important to him, and that was enough for now.

“So, if you’re not going back to them, what’s the plan?” Damien offered the change in topic. Shayne looked all too relieved to take it.

“The Blacksmith. He, or she,” Shayne added with a half-shrug, “Is the bigshot behind the attack on the 15th. His people worked with the Cartel to pull it off.”

“Okay, and how are you gonna find them?”

“He’s the top dog of the heroin trade, I think,” Shayne’s brow was furrowed in thought, “Courtney found these evidence logs from that day in the park. Heroin packs stamped with an anvil.”

“Blacksmith, anvil – makes sense.” Damien nodded.

With a sharp breath, Shayne pushed himself up to his feet and stretched. Damien watched him with unease, waiting for a stitch to rip open. Judging by the lack of extra pain on Shayne’s face, it looked like his needlework was safe. Shayne only winced when he took a step or two away from the sofa. His ankle probably hurt – it was still swollen after all – but Shayne soldiered through it.

Working through the pain was the man’s specialty. There were loads of times Shayne led the fight with more than a few holes in him. Once, after giving all his field dressings to Damien to use on one of his own men, Shayne applied first aid to himself. Damien had to watch in horror as Shayne stuffed dirt and mud into a bullet hole in his leg to clog up the bleeding before wrapping it up with torn fabric from his pants. The jarhead then led his men around the ridge and took out the enemy’s fortified position to save the rest of the pinned down platoon. Shayne was out of action for weeks to recover from the early onset botulism, but the results couldn’t be argued with.

“I’ll shake the bastards down. Find the Blacksmith, DA Reyes, anyone else responsible,” Shayne picked his clothes up off the coffee table, “Then I’ll finish it.”

Damien looked at the clothes in his hands, then up at Shayne. He wanted to argue with Shayne, he truly did. Nobody was as tough as Shayne, but he needed all the recovery he could get. But nobody was as much of a stubborn and persistent jackass like Shayne either. It was clear he’d already made up his mind. There was no changing it. Damien couldn’t force him to stay and rest even if he tried – hell, Damien wouldn’t put it past Shayne to unfasten his prosthetic leg and throw it out a window if it meant escaping his hospitality.

He also knew that in the end, Shayne was right. There were dangerous people looking for him, and that put his and Alice’s lives on the line. He couldn’t risk her.

The best he could do was offer a little aid while Shayne went to change into the clothes he fetched from his house.

Just the same, Damien wore the concern plainly on his face and couldn’t stop himself from asking, “Then what?” Damien pursed his lips and shrugged, “You finish it – then what?”

Shayne chuckled as he took slow steps towards the bathroom. He flashed Damien a melancholic smile. “When I figure that part out, I’ll be sure to let you know.”

Damien pushed himself up once Shayne disappeared behind the bathroom door. In his bedroom closet, Damien pulled out the small trunk where he kept all his junk from the service. His uniforms were neatly hanging in the closet. The other memorabilia were stored in here, along with a spare pistol or two.

The lid was pried open, revealing the black plate carrier vest at the top of the pile. It was the same vest he strapped on when he tried to join Shayne in his personal war. Damien just hoped that he would accept the vest this time. The ballistic plate inserts were already stored in their respective compartments, making it relatively heavy to pick up. The weight was well distributed, so the wearer would barely feel it once it was on. Damien hesitated just for a second before snatching the navy-blue cap from the closet to give Shayne a little extra concealment. Damien took slow steps out of the bedroom and towards the living room just as Shayne stepped out.

Shayne was wearing a black Henley and blue jeans. His dark, hooded coat was draped around one arm. He let it wrap around the sofa’s backrest as he sat down and began lacing up his combat boots.

“Whatcha got there?” Shayne asked.

Damien placed the cap onto Shayne’s head and let the vest’s solid weight thud onto the sofa to answer his question.

Shayne stopped working on his boots so he could look at the object. Recognition crossed his features, and he turned to Damien. “Dude. No.”

“Dude. Yes,” Damien chuckled, “C’mon. If you take that, at least you won’t need to see me for a while. Isn’t that what you want? To stay far away?”

His eyes could bore holes into the vest with how hard he was staring at it. Finally, he looked back at Damien to give him a firm nod, “I owe you one, Dames.”

Damien cracked a smile, “Nah, I think you owe me more than just one.”

Shayne huffed a soft laugh and resumed lacing up his boots. As much as Damien worried, he knew deep down that Shayne would probably be fine. He’d seen Shayne march back into the fight with worse. The fact that this was New York City and not Afghanistan was a point in their corner. Shayne would need to keep his guard up, but it was different. He could blend in and hide here. He wasn’t going to be in the fight every second. Putting himself in the action would slow down his recovery, but it was better than if he were fighting for days at a time with no end in sight. Shayne could set his own pace here. The fact the public thought he was dead was another thing that worked to their advantage.

Once Shayne was done fixing up his boots, he took another long look at the vest. When he made up whatever was on his mind, Shayne turned his face to Damien. “You got some spray paint lying around? White?”

While it struck Damien as odd, he did have some in the garage. Damien led the way to the front door with stiff steps, “Yeah. In the back.”

Shayne downed the rest of his coffee then picked up the vest and got back to his feet. The sound of the heavy boots on the wooden floor had an imposing ring to them. It lent a little more confidence to Shayne’s condition. Damien undid the deadbolt and lock and stepped out with Shayne in tow. He closed the door behind them and followed Damien to the garage. With a click of the remote, the automated door swung open, revealing the car within, along with the mini workshop. Shayne found the workbench and set the vest down onto it. Damien produced a can of white spray paint from one of the drawers and handed it to Shayne.

“I didn’t think you were big on arts and crafts, buddy.”

There was a tug at the corner of his lips when he shook his head while rattling the can. “I wanna send these assholes a message.”

It clicked in Damien’s head. He’d seen all the Punisher merch that was going around ever since Courtney’s article was published. “A big white skull is gonna give away the fact you’re alive, don’t you think?”

With a final shake, Shayne got the can into position above the vest. “Who’re those shitbags going to tattle to? The cops? They gonna tell them The Punisher is alive and hunting them down because they’re murderers?”

Damien shook his head and took a step back to get clear of the fumes. “Point taken. Just be sure anyone that sees that vest won’t live to talk about it.”

“That’s the plan,” Shayne muttered and began spraying. Damien stood a short distance away, watching him work for the next few minutes. There was a certain precision with which Shayne moved, but that wasn’t a big surprise. It made sense that a Scout Sniper had such an eye for detail. Once Shayne was satisfied with his work, he heaved the bulletproof vest off the table and presented it to Damien.

The white skull emblazoned on the vest starkly contrasted the deep black Kevlar. It was a spitting recreation of the insignia the public had branded him with once his x-ray was unveiled to the world. It was a symbol to be feared by his enemies. That skull would likely be the last thing that many heinous men saw before they would be unceremoniously put into the dirt.

At the same time, it was a memento mori. It was a reminder of the inevitability of death. For someone like Shayne who was undoubtedly still reeling from his family’s demise, it was all too fitting.

“Looks good. Now put that down before a neighbor sees.” Damien smiled to lighten the mood. Shayne rolled his eyes but complied. He kept the vest low and the skull out of sight as they left the garage.

Damien spared a glance at a car pulling over across the street as he led the way back into his house. Shayne limped in after him, but not before following Damien’s gaze. The door shut behind them and Shayne set the locks back in place. Damien made his way to the hot pot of coffee on the kitchen island.

“Neighbors?” Shayne asked with narrowed eyes as he retrieved his empty cup from the coffee table.

He didn’t like the uncertainty in his voice and the implications it brought. Damien answered truthfully when Shayne came to a stop by his side. “Not sure. I think so.”

It was almost as if Damien’s words willed the universe to prove him wrong. A resounding bang accompanied splintering wood and twisting metal as buckshot tore through the front door’s lock. A kick sent the door flying open as four masked men charged forward, weapons raised.

Damien may have been a corpsman that focused on saving lives, but that didn’t mean he was defenseless. He’d learned on more than one occasion that saving lives meant taking lives too. With not an ounce of rust in his movements, Damien whipped his pistol from its concealed carry holster. The safety was flicked off in a matter of milliseconds as his eyes levelled with the sights. His .45 answered their gunfire with eight shots cracking out. The rounds tore through the man with the shotgun and another with a pistol, dropping them right there on the doorstep.

Shayne’s hand grabbed at Damien’s belt, pulling him down to cover behind the solid kitchen island. Damien landed firmly on his behind, losing his footing thanks to the prosthetic. Shayne looked at Damien with wide, vigilant eyes as the wild bullets from a submachinegun peppered the wall and shattered the nearby window. Damien ejected the magazine with a flick of his wrist and drew the singular spare magazine he concealed. With a flick of the slide stop, the next round was chambered.

Shayne peeked out at one side as Damien did the same around the other. There were two of them left. Both were closing in. They looked to gain the upper hand and dominate the room with their decisive action and superior firepower. It was the kind of confidence that spoke of possible military training.

“Go for the guy with the automatic. The other’s closer to me. I got him.”

A laugh slipped out of Damien’s lips by accident. Unsurprisingly, Shayne fixed him with a crooked smile and a jerk of his head to get to work. The ease with which they worked together was a testimony to everything they’d been through overseas. Settling into the heat of combat was almost second nature to them when they were together. His heart beat fast and powerfully, but not in a panic. His limbs contained the slightest tremble, but not enough to compromise his aim. His hands grew damp, but not so much as to affect his grip.

If Damien were alone, he had a feeling his clarity of mind and the ease with which he was shooting wouldn’t come as easily. He hit up shooting ranges with Alice every few weekends to stay sharp, but targets didn’t shoot back. Having Shayne by his side made the rapid snap into a fighting mindset easy.

Damien peeled from cover and took a knee with his good leg. The first few shots slowed the ski-masked gunman’s advance. His submachinegun was quick to answer back with a rapid burst, forcing Damien back behind the kitchen island. The bullets chipped the stone counter, showering Damien with loose bits of debris.

When the loud snap of gunfire abruptly stopped, Damien leaned back out as the shooter’s ammo ran dry. Several well-placed shots to his center mass had the guy toppling to the ground. He belatedly noted that these guys weren’t packing body armor – meaning they likely weren’t expecting to get shot at. They probably thought this was going to be an easy hit on a cripple and the kidnapping of an injured man.

Shayne took that moment to engage the last shooter. He popped from cover just as the masked man was about to reach them. Using a discarded dishrag, Shayne wrapped up the man’s wrist and displaced the gun’s line of fire. A few shots rang out as they dug into the ceiling and sent dust sailing down. Shayne knocked his hip into the man to send him off-balance, as he smacked the pistol out of his grip. A fist to Shayne’s bruised ribs had him recoiling back.

Damien flicked his safety back on and holstered the pistol. If he was going to intervene, he had to get physical, which would be troublesome because of the leg. Thankfully, it soon appeared to be unnecessary.

Shayne had the situation under control. He tossed the dishrag to the side as he and his attacker broke apart. The man snatched a knife free from Damien’s knife rack, while Shayne went for a more underhanded tactic. He grabbed the hot coffeepot and smashed the glass open into the man’s face.

He howled in agony and staggered back as Shayne gave him no quarter. He established control of the man’s wrist and disarmed him with a kick to the midsection. Their masked assailant didn’t have time to recover when Shayne lunged at him. He jabbed the knife into the gunman’s gut with speed and power that was astounding for a man just a day into recovery. The brutal stabbing had the man tumbling down with Shayne kneeling next to him. He kept the man’s head pinned in place and pressed the kitchen knife against his throat.

Damien closed the distance to catch up with Shayne. The gravity of the situation was sinking in now. The battle-clarity was subsiding along with the adrenaline. Now his mind was reminding him of all the things they needed to think of next.

His _actual_ neighbors probably called 911 when they heard the shooting. He was going to have to explain this away to the police. He was going to have to explain this to _Alice_. Shayne needed to make himself scarce before the police arrived.

“How’d you find me?” Shayne growled at the man who was steadily bleeding out. He ripped the man’s ski-mask off before returning the knife to his throat. The wincing face was unfamiliar.

“The…” The shooter groaned, “The Blacksmith.”

“Fuck,” Shayne grumbled. He craned his head to tell Damien, “I had a feeling one of those guys from the explosion survived. I think he bailed when I did.”

With regret on his face, and anger likely directed at himself, Shayne said, “I was too beaten to shit to cover my tracks right. I was leaving blood going from alley to alley. I tried to drop a few false trails but that wasn’t enough. Assholes must’ve tracked me to the church and seen you pick me up.”

“That’s not on you, buddy.” Damien reassured him just the same. The guy looked like hell yesterday. It was no surprise he left a trail of crimson when he made his escape. People who knew what to look for only had to follow it straight to him.

Shayne turned his attention back to the dying man. He wrapped a hand around his throat and raised the knife high in a clear threat.

“Where can I find him? Where’s the Blacksmith?”

His hands feebly came up to protect his face as he yelled, “I’ll talk!”

* * *

Olivia saw her day going many possible ways after what happened at the 15th precinct yesterday. Being summoned to the DA’s office in all its glass and steel glory was an unexpected turn. She walked shoulder to shoulder with Keith and Noah as Assistant DA Tower led them into the office. What Reyes could possibly have to say to them was anyone’s guess.

Shayne was dead and the trial was defunct. It’s not like the DA could put a dead man on the stand and try him with multiple counts of homicide. He died before final judgment was passed on him, and that extinguished his criminal liability. As far as Leak and Grossman were concerned, they were done. _The People v Shayne Topp_ was over. They had no business with Reyes.

The one good thing that came of this was all the publicity they were getting. Suddenly their inboxes were popping off with inquiries. They were up to their eyeballs in walk-ins who were prospective clients. Their pantry’s coffee machine was on overdrive providing for all their guests. Leak and Grossman hadn’t been that busy in months, even before they took on Shayne’s case. Their calendars were already fully booked for the next two weeks from all the appointments that were set.

Tower excused himself to slip into Reyes’ private office, leaving them in the DA’s waiting room. The blinds of the inner office’s glass walls were pulled low, obscuring the occupants of the room. Olivia crossed her arms and turned to her two associates, who looked equally on edge.

“What do you think she called us for?” Olivia finally asked.

Noah answered first with a distasteful scrunch of his nose, “Maybe she’s gonna finally cash in on all those threats to bury our firm.”

Keith leaned his hip on the corner of Tower’s desk as he gave a shrug. He set his sleek black briefcase onto his lap as he replied, “After all the press we’re getting’? She’s welcome to try.”

Olivia looked towards the closed door and could make out the shadows of Reyes and Tower, likely conversing in hushed voices.

“Bet she’s gonna ask about Shayne’s files.” Noah offered.

Keith and Olivia shared looks before the former shook his head, “Mm-mm, that ain’t happenin’. I say we take the offensive. Knock her off guard.”

Noah spared a glimpse at the office before he affirmed, “Yeah. Keep her from maintaining the initiative. We’re not letting her walk all over us and pry into Shayne’s files for whatever reason.”

They lapsed into silence seeing that they were all in agreement. It didn’t last long when Olivia chimed in. She’d been meaning to bring it up earlier, but they were so swamped the whole day. It was a miracle they were able to slip away to attend this meeting to begin with.

“I got this message from Courtney.”

The two lawyers turned their attention to Olivia. Noah spoke first to ask, “How’s she holding up?”

“Not sure. I was supposed to check in, but there were so many people in the office.” Olivia bit her lip. The regret bubbled up inside her. She owed Courtney a call. “I wasn’t able to follow up with her.”

“What she say?” Keith asked.

“She asked for Damien Haas’ contact information.” Olivia explained, “Said it was for Smosh.”

Noah nodded deliberately, “Think she’s writing something about Shayne?”

“It’s possible.”

The door to Reyes’ office cracked open, revealing Tower’s face.

“She’ll see you now,” Tower gave a terse smile and opened the door fully to allow their entry.

They filed in one by one into Reyes’ office. Their fine heels and shoes clicked against the expensive wooden flooring as they assembled. It was a sparsely decorated, but clearly pricey office. The massive glass windows stretched from floor to ceiling, giving a good view of the neighboring buildings. The rest of the walls were lined with shelves filled to the brim with law books. Her desk sat front and center, muddled with a computer buried by a mound of loose papers.

Reyes looked worse for wear. She was out of her imposing prosecutor getup with the heels and the suit. She’d traded that ensemble in to dress down in a Columbia Law School hoodie, jeans, and sneakers. Her hair was tied into a tight ponytail, and her makeup was a mess. It was a shocking contrast to the office she stood in. With an awkward wave of her hand, she motioned to the three seats in front of her desk.

“Please, have a seat.”

Olivia and the two lawyers exchanged uncertain looks. They finally complied when Reyes once again urged, “Please.”

With no shortage of hesitation, Olivia sat in the center chair with Keith and Noah flanking her. Reyes remained where she stood behind the desk. With a gulp, she said, “Thank you for coming.”

Noah was first to scoff, “Hard to say no to the prosecutor right after our late client dies in a massive explosion.” Noah crossed his legs and watched her with a defiant tilt of his head, “Right at the height of the trial of the century, too.”

Reyes acknowledged Noah with a firm nod and started, “Right, about that-”

Keith spoke up, “Lady, we don’t know what your play is, but let’s cut the shit,” He mimicked Noah, crossing his legs and fixing his steady, hard gaze on her. He tucked his briefcase into the crook of his elbow as he continued, “You brought us in to pry privileged information about our client out of us, hm?”

Reyes’ shoulders heaved a shrug as her dull eyes glazed over each of them. Finally, she nodded, “Yes. But I have good reason to.”

“Yeah? What’s that?” Olivia tilted her head.

“We have to get Topp off the streets before he hurts anyone.”

Once again, there were many things Olivia had expected, but this was not one of them. Their plan of attack to remain on the offensive began to crumble in the face of this new line of discussion.

“Mr. Topp is dead, Ms. Reyes. I’m sure you’re well aware of what happened at the 15th.” Noah’s brow furrowed with a frown.

Reyes bit her lip before shaking her head and saying, “No. We have reason to believe he’s alive and intends to hurt people.”

“What?” Keith leaned forward.

“Ma’am,” Noah cleared his throat, “There were no survivors on the scene.”

“Anyone who escaped the explosion broke every bone in their body bailing out.” Olivia agreed with her two friends.

Reyes turned around to look out the large glass windows. Her hand came up to rub at the back of her neck before she faced them once more, “I know that that’s certainly what it seems like. But he’s out there.”

“Ms. Reyes,” Keith extended an olive branch, “If you want our cooperation, we need to know everything you know. Spill it.”

The district attorney had her hands on the table as she leaned against it. She glanced once at Tower, who stood steadfast and gave a nod of support.

“I’ve made mistakes.” Reyes muttered. Her downcast eyes were fixed on the table as she straightened up.

“Such as?” Noah prompted her.

“Topp’s family in Central Park.” She paused to gulp, “I screwed up.”

Olivia felt the heat rise to her chest in anger on Shayne’s behalf. Her inner Courtney was showing. “Shayne’s family being shot to bits isn’t a mistake, it’s a _massacre_!”

Reyes raised a hand to stop her, “Listen. If I had any idea people were going to be hurt, I would _not_ have pushed through.”

“Pushed through – wait – your office was apart of it?” Noah uncrossed his legs and leaned forward with his arms on his knees.

“Big surprise,” Keith grumbled under his breath.

“Ma’am,” Tower cleared his throat, and nodded at the trio, “They need to know.”

With a reluctant nod, Reyes turned to sit on the edge of the desk. She motioned for Tower to take over.

As all eyes turned to him, Tower began, “Last year, before I signed up, the DA’s office learned there was a new bigshot in the heroin business. He calls himself the Blacksmith.”

The name caught Olivia’s attention. It fit in with Courtney’s earlier discovery just before the precinct was shot up. Those anvil-branded heroin packets in the evidence log pointed right to this so-called Blacksmith.

“Now this guy wasn’t just gonna flood the market. He was gonna _be_ the market. Guy dealt in entire metric tons, and that should’ve made him easy to find, but instead he was a ghost. We didn’t know where it was coming from, how he was getting the drugs in – nothing.”

“Then a few months ago,” Tower sighed, “We got word that the Blacksmith was brokering a deal between three unaffiliated gangs.

“Dogs of Hell, Kitchen Irish, Mexican Cartel,” Noah stated.

Tower nodded in confirmation, “The deal was set for midafternoon in Central Park. Our guys were there. They were ready to intervene.”

“Y’all were ready to turn Central Park into a shooting range, but you didn’t clear the park? You had a chance to get people outta the way, but you didn’t?” Keith turned his frown towards Reyes.

With shame on her face, Reyes shook her head, “I thought about it. I decided an empty park was a dead giveaway, so I greenlit the operation.”

“Civilian traffic and all,” Olivia scoffed, “And it went straight to shit.”

Reyes’ lips were pressed into a thin line as her downcast eyes avoided the trio, “Blacksmith didn’t show. Gangs got rattled and started shooting before our guys could move in.”

She leaned on the table and swallowed a guilty growing lump in her throat, “Since we didn’t clear the park, Topp’s family-” Reyes let out a sharp sigh, “God damnit.”

“So then you made it worse?” Noah scowled, “You slapped a DNR on him, and when that didn’t work, you put the shoot-to-kill order on him?”

The shifty way her eyes were avoiding Noah’s was enough to confirm it.

“Hang on,” Keith raised a hand, “The hit in Rikers – was that you? You tried to have Mr. Topp and Ms. Miller killed to stop the truth from comin’ out?”

With a reluctant nod, Reyes admitted, “Yes.”

“Oh my God, lady – forget this. You’re on your own,” Keith glowered at her.

“Wait – wait,” Reyes reached into her bag on the table, “Look – this isn’t about me anymore. Tower can have an internal case opened against me; you can get a prosecutor to go after me – I don’t care.”

She drew a picture from her bag and firmly planted it on her cluttered table for all to see. It was a photograph of a skull, a singular bullet hole splitting open the cranium. It was a copy of Shayne’s x-ray. “What matters right now is that you help me get Topp off the street.”

“Wait, what are-” Noah was cut off by Reyes continuing on.

“I found this in my daughter’s backpack before I sent her to school,” Her eyes ran over each of them, “You know once he gets his sights on a target, he isn’t going to stop.”

Olivia knew that their collective hive-like minds were thinking the same thing. This couldn’t be Shayne. That wasn’t his style.

Either way, it was a grim shift in the discussion, and Noah asked, “Where’s your daughter now?”

“Somewhere upstate,” Reyes shrugged with a break in her voice, “Somewhere I’m not allowed to know, surrounded by men with guns assigned to protect her.”

Leak and Grossman shared glances among one another before Keith broke the silence, “Ms. Reyes, this may be hard to believe, but _if_ Shayne Topp were alive, this… this ain’t him. The guy’s got like a code. Someone’s settin’ him up.”

Reyes scoffed, “And I’m – what – I’m supposed to believe that? Trust your word over a picture of his skull in my baby girl’s backpack?”

It did look very incriminating, but the idea _was_ innocent until proven guilty, after all. Shayne’s body count was extensive, but he’d never hurt a child.

“I don’t care how much time you spent with Topp.” Reyes leaned against her desk, “He’s coming after my child.”

“Ms. Reyes, what exactly do you want from us?” Noah asked. There was less venom in his voice now. It was doubtful that Shayne was involved in this threat, but this was still a gravely serious matter now. Nobody – not even Reyes – deserved to have their child threatened like that.

“If he contacts you, please let me know,” Reyes raised a hand to stop Keith from speaking up, “I know that I’m asking you to break attorney-client privilege. But I’m just trying to protect my little girl.”

Olivia was looking past Reyes at the massive glass window behind her. She listened intently but found it difficult looking at the woman as she began to break down. Olivia’s eyes were fixed on the building across the DA’s office. There was a reflection of light that was catching her attention. It was moving, almost distractingly so.

Her voice broke as she continued, “I know what I’ve done is terrible, and I can never make that up to Topp or you three and Ms. Miller. But please,” Reyes pleaded. With a helpless wave towards her surroundings, she added, “I don’t give a shit about my job anymore. I just want to keep my family safe.”

There was a vague shape that moved by the glint of light. A muted black stood out against the saturated blue of the window that shined light back at the world. It was most prominent by the glint of brightness that was catching her eye.

Olivia felt her stomach drop as Shayne’s words from just a day prior rang in her head.

_Colors out of place, shadows that don’t match, shapes where they shouldn’t be._

_Then there’s the shiny glint of an enemy sniper’s scope, but that’s a dead giveaway._

It was on instinct that she shouted, “Get down!”

The first bullet shattered the glass window then dug into Reyes’ back. Olivia’s small hand forcefully shoved Keith down before she dived at Noah and tumbled to the ground with him. The heavy rain of gunfire snapped and cracked through the office. The pop of the hail of bullets was overpowered only by the wind violently whipping against them through the now open window. The rounds tore into the bookshelves, sending puffs of dust and paper into the air. The sickly sound of flesh rending beneath the unforgiving wave of bullets filled the space.

After a few agonizingly long seconds, the gunfire subsided, leaving them alone with the howling gusts.

Reyes’ limp body was slumped over her desk. Tower peeked out from above his arms from where he lied on the ground. Keith dared to inch up and survey the damage. Olivia looked at Noah, who was decidedly paler than usual. The lawyer shifted slightly and grimaced. Noah’s hands came up from under his body, only to reveal they were covered in blood.

* * *

It was late in the afternoon by the time Courtney neared Dr. Gregory Tepper’s last known place of residence. Her strange, and not too convincing, talk with Damien Haas all but confirmed that Shayne was alive. He was likely staying with Damien, but Courtney had no idea where that was. That became her next point of investigation until something bigger came up. Courtney dug through whatever publicly available records there were on the Navy veteran. There were some addresses listed, and Courtney drove back and forth across New York City to verify them. So far, they were all duds. Damien moved out of them and to somewhere else long ago.

In between her unfruitful visits, Courtney stopped by a pet store since Max was her fateful companion throughout her investigation for the day. After an hour’s deliberation and checking out model reviews online, she made up her mind. Courtney bought the safest car harness available then strapped Max in. After the initial low grumbles from the Pitbull, he allowed himself to be strapped into the backseat with little further fussing. Once Max was well and secure, she continued her search.

After bumping into a few dead ends, Courtney took a break to phone up Schoonover. She told him she was still waiting and hoping, but that her bosses wanted her to write a profile of Shayne. Schoonover agreed to an interview a little later in the evening to learn more about Shayne’s time in the Marines. The colonel’s schedule was fully booked the entire day, so the best he could do was a meeting a little after dinner. Courtney didn’t mind. She had a feeling she wouldn’t be getting much sleep. Hell, Courtney was practically grateful for the late-night distraction.

Eventually, Courtney got a call from Ian. She filled him in on the memorial at the park but was told not to worry since Ian had another reporter prepare the writeup for that. Once that was out of the way, Ian presented her with Tepper’s address on a silver platter. He reminded her of the as of the moment unsolved lead on who the murdered John Doe was. Tepper would likely be able to answer that, so Ian did some poking around and got his last known location.

Courtney was looking forward to having a little chat with the doctor. That body was likely the missing link to tie the pieces together. After the emotionally tumultuous day yesterday, she could really do with another breakthrough in the case.

The GPS on her phone led her up North, nearly an hour’s drive away from the city proper. Upstate, the skyscrapers were nearly a distant dream, and houses small and large dotted the green (and slowly turning orange) landscape. It was an idyllic and tranquil part of New York, away from the hustle and bustle. It made sense that someone like Tepper lived here. He could definitely afford it with the bank he was making as the chief medical examiner who likely got his pockets lined through unsavory means as well.

A series of distant but rapid pops shattered the peace and sense of tranquility that had just started to set in. Courtney’s heart began to race as her grip on the steering wheel tightened. She’d heard far too many of those already the past day alone to know they could be nothing but gunshots. She pressed down on the gas to speed up, finding the cracks growing louder as she went. Max let out a quiet whine in protest of the noise.

“It’s okay, baby.” Courtney looked at the overgrown pup through the rearview mirror, “We’ll be okay.”

With each turn and bend Courtney’s vehicle took, the pops grew louder and more frequent. If Courtney had to guess, the heroin kingpin was making his play and wiping out witnesses and anyone else that knew the truth. It was an easy guess that he was responsible for the attack on the precinct. She could deduce that he was likely behind this as well. Courtney locked away the sliver of fear that this could be Shayne exacting revenge for Tepper’s role in his family’s cover up.

The sharp snapping of bullets grew faint by the time she arrived at the scene. When she pulled over, they had come to a dead silent stop. Tepper’s house was in shambles. Murdered police officers lied in bloody heaps strewn across the front garden and patio, patches of red pooling beneath them. Bullet holes peppered the exterior walls. Windows were shattered. A stomach-churning silence emanated from within the ransacked home.

A part of Courtney felt that the responsible course of action would be to call 911 and let them handle this. As quickly as the thought came, she realized they’d be too late by the time they got here. Even if they did arrive soon, they likely wouldn’t be ready for the danger of what may lie ahead.

The other part of Courtney urged her to take decisive action. The lack of gunfire meant that whoever was shooting up the place must have surely cleared out by now. They wouldn’t want to stick around the scene. She took a deep breath as the choice settled in.

Decisive action of an individual would always best the unprepared group. Shayne would dive in and take them by surprise, so that’s what she’d (try to) do if it came to it. Whoever was in there wasn’t expecting back up – if they were even still there at all.

Courtney’s phone began to buzz with an incoming call. Seeing Olivia’s name on the cracked display, she glanced once at the gravely silent house. Ian and Anthony knew where she was. She could loop Olivia in later. Now was the time to act and act fast. Dr. Tepper’s life could be counting on it.

The call was declined with a sharp click, and Courtney left it in the mount in favor of drawing her trusty pistol from her bag. She kept the windows open to give Max some breathing room. She didn’t dare drag the overgrown pup with her in what could be a gunfight. He was safe in the car with her cellphone that could be tracked if she was captured, or worse.

In the cool autumn’s late afternoon, heat wasn’t going to be a problem for the dog. She didn’t intend to stay too long, either. The police would be here eventually if any of the neighbors called this in.

Courtney reached back to give Max a rub on the head before she stepped out. His quiet whimper earned him a final pat before she closed the door. She pushed forward into the fray, flicking off the gun’s safety and raising the sights to eye level. Her finger rested against the trigger guard, ready to unleash lead at a moment’s notice.

Her heart hammered in her chest as she surveyed the surrounding area. Any neighboring houses were far off enough that there couldn’t be a clear line of sight to Tepper’s house or to herself. She didn’t need to worry about being seen for now.

She counted at least six fallen officers. They were in full tactical gear, with black body armor, helmets, and rifles. Judging by the markings on their uniforms, they appeared to be part of witness protection. Their soft Kevlar vests were no match for the caliber of firepower that their killer used. Courtney gulped and ignored the freshly murdered bodies before she got sick in the stomach. It was far too reminiscent of the photos she’d seen of the crime scenes Shayne left in his wake. She kept the .380 raised and ready to shoot.

The shredded door was already wide open when Courtney stepped up to the patio to stand before it. From the doorway, she could make out the bullet-riddled living room to her left, and the kitchen to her right. Several more bodies lingered on the ground, their blood seeping into the cracks of the hardwood floor.

Straight ahead, leaning against one shelf was the late Dr. Tepper. The old man’s midsection was ripped up by the heavy gunfire he sustained. His hands were covered in blood from being pressed against the wounds in a futile attempt to stop their bleeding. His eyes were shut, and his stubbly face was twisted in a final agonized grimace.

Heavy footfalls came from a hallway down the kitchen side. Courtney snapped her gun towards the source and trained it after the figure that broke from the darkness. Her finger wrapped around the trigger and tensed, ready to shoot.

Shayne Topp, in the flesh, came skidding to a halt by Dr. Tepper’s body.

Courtney would’ve been relieved and overcome with joy to see him alive with her own two eyes. However, the circumstances didn’t exactly deem that appropriate. Her finger uncurled from the trigger, but the gun remained pointed at Shayne in the midst of the very incriminating scene.

He wore combat boots, dark jeans, a navy-blue baseball cap, and a black hooded coat which was unzipped. It revealed the dark bulletproof vest and the haunting white skull painted onto it, along with a few splotches of red. He had a pistol in one of his bloody hands and an envelope in the other.

His wide eyes locked onto Courtney’s, and then onto the gun she had aimed at him. He then looked around and took in the bloody mess around them. He nodded once, as if only now realizing the carnage he was surrounded by.

“I can explain.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's that? You wanted another cliffhanger? There's more where that came from! The train is reaching terminal velocity now and it is *not* slowing down. I hope you enjoyed a peek into Damien's day-to-day, the showdown at the DA's office, and the tease of the reunion everyone's been waiting for. Let me know what you thought of this one :) Next chapter's already going through revisions, and I'm working on the succeeding ones. I've had these particular chapters mapped out since the prologue, so I'm psyched to be writing and publishing them! I'll catch you guys in the next update. Have a good one!


	20. Pretty Shitty First Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Courtney takes Shayne to dinner. Shayne makes a discovery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some graphic violence ahead. Be warned.

“Go, I’ll handle it!”

Shayne was all but shoved out of Damien’s broken front door after the last man died. He’d just zipped his coat up to conceal the bulletproof vest and was now securing Damien’s baseball cap over his head. With a tug of his hood, his face was as obscured as could be. He had no idea how Damien was going to handle this. The guy needed to explain this situation away to the police, and it was a pretty bad looking sight. He likely had self-defense and the Castle Doctrine on his side, but it was still a grisly scene. Three men were riddled with bullets while the fourth had a scalded face and multiple stab wounds. In any case, the less Shayne knew about how Damien was going to deal with it, the better.

Whether he liked it or not, this was where their paths had to diverge for now. Damien agreed to take Alice and head out of town for a week or two once he was cleared by the police. It was safer this way. Shayne didn’t doubt the spread of the Blacksmith’s influence, but the farther Damien was from New York City, the better.

Besides, Shayne was certain the Blacksmith would be dealt with in a matter of days. He wasn’t going to allow the crime lord to continue jeopardizing lives like this.

Shayne kept his head low as he flagged down a passing taxicab just a few houses away from Damien’s. He flung the door open and hopped in to scoot over to the seat behind the driver. Before the cab driver could so much as open his mouth, Shayne dropped several of Damien’s bills onto the passenger seat and gave the address.

The _advanced payment_ was enough to buy his silence for the time being. The driver glanced back at him through the rearview mirror every so often but said nothing. Shayne kept his hood up and the bill of his cap low to avoid eye contact.

It was going to be a long drive, that much Shayne was certain of. He shifted slightly once, twice, and again and again to ease into the seat. The battered pistol tucked into his pants didn’t make for a comfortable ride. Shayne was conscious of his movements as well, so the bottle of painkillers in his coat pocket wouldn’t rattle too much. His nervous fidgeting in the backseat must have been glaringly obvious, because after the first ten minutes, the cab driver spoke up. He was a young guy with red hair shaved close, like a recruit freshly arriving at Basic. He wore an Army green shirt, and Shayne noticed the glint of dog tags around his neck.

“You visiting your parents or someone upstate?” The driver asked.

Shayne was on the way to stop the assassination of Dr. Gregory Tepper, but this man didn’t need to know that. The Blacksmith was apparently trying to clean up loose ends. The things Tepper knew put him in danger, so Shayne had to act fast. If he was going to die, he at least hoped the doctor would kick it after Shayne got the information he needed. His knowledge of the John Doe could serve to tie all these disjointed pieces together – Reyes, the Blacksmith, the gangs, all of them.

“Hm,” Shayne grunted, “Something like that.”

The young driver’s persistent gaze was beginning to unnerve Shayne. The last thing he needed was his cover being blown after barely twenty-four hours of having it. Before Shayne could snarl at the man, he spoke up first.

“I think it’s real brave what you did, Staff Sergeant Topp.”

Fuck.

Shayne leaned forward to place a hand on the driver’s seat as he growled, “Hey, you never saw me – got it?” His eyes darted to the dashcam, finding it was already switched off to begin with. They snapped back to the driver.

“Never saw you, sir.” The cab driver’s eyes focused on the road, avoiding Shayne’s threatening leer.

“What’s your name?” Shayne asked.

“Lewis Wilson, sir.”

“Wilson, you’re not gonna breathe a word about this to anyone. Not where you picked me up, not where you dropped me off – nothing. Got it?” Shayne played up the theatrics, leaning in closer as he sneered, “You know what I do to shitbags that get in my way?”

“With all due respect, sir, I know you won’t hurt me.” Wilson gulped, not daring to look back, “I know you don’t hurt people that don’t deserve it.”

Shayne grumbled under his breath. Of course, the cab that picked him up manages to be driven by someone that knows he has a code. He supposed it was better than someone who was eager to turn him in.

“But I won’t tell anyone, you have my word, sir.”

Shayne squinted at Wilson as they came to a stop. The driver risked a glance back at Shayne, saw his narrowed eyes, then looked back ahead.

“What’s the deal, Wilson?”

“No deal, sir.” Wilson’s thumbs nervously ran across the wheel before he added, “I served in the 1st Infantry, sir. We may have been from different branches, but I respect what you’ve done.”

Shayne let out a quiet sigh and finally relented. He leaned back into the seat behind him. There was no use threatening or scaring this guy.

“I respect what you’ve done here too, sir.”

As much as the city stunk, and as much as Shayne felt the powerful drive to destroy the people responsible for his family’s deaths, Shayne wasn’t kidding himself. He knew what he was doing was wrong at the end of the day. Shayne simply had the resolve to live with those demons, even if they ate him up. The haunting wails of Mike’s widowed wife were still fresh in his memory.

“You better not be thinking of picking up a gun and cleaning up this city.”

“No, sir – I just think what you’ve done is right.”

Shayne scoffed out a breath, “Nothing right about it. I’m doing what I need to do – there’s no right to it. I’m no goddamn vigilante hero to look up to.”

That quieted Wilson down for the time being. The sun was beginning to grow low as the chilly late afternoon set in. The city was falling behind them now, giving way to the rolling golden and orange trees. These upper-middle class suburbs were the type of neighborhood Nicole wanted to move to someday. Lots of open space for Lizzy, near some good schools, the works. Moving was one of those things they were supposed to sort out after he was discharged from his nearly ten years in the service.

When they were a few houses away from Tepper’s address, Shayne told Wilson to pull over. He’d walk from here. The less Wilson saw, the better.

Shayne dumped a few more bills before he opened the door.

“I’m sorry about your family, sir.”

He paused halfway out the vehicle. Shayne acknowledged him with a nod before fully stepping out. He motioned for Wilson to turn around, which he thankfully did. Once the cab was on its way, Shayne picked up the pace.

Barely half a minute had elapsed by the time a black van came to an abrupt stop outside of Tepper’s address. Several police officers – a witness protection unit – stood guard outside. They raised their weapons in alarm, but barely had time to react.

Shayne’s heart skipped a beat at the sight of the men piling out of the van. Similar to the hitmen in Damien’s house, they were dressed up in all black and concealed their identities with ski masks. There were six men packing an assortment of automatic weaponry, including two light machineguns.

They didn’t stand a chance and were instantaneously cut down by the violent torrent of deafening gunfire. Shayne instinctively got low, using a parked SUV as concealment. He winced at the throbbing pain in his ankle as he crouched down. The first volley of popping gunfire wiped out Tepper’s police detail. They advanced on the house, spreading out to maintain separate zones of fire. Their fingers didn’t let off the triggers as they spewed lead with a fury, shattering windows and shredding wood.

Shayne crept along from vehicle to vehicle to get closer as the torrent of gunfire continued. He was kneeling by Tepper’s car by the time they eased off the firepower.

“Secure the target!” One barked. Shayne frowned. There was that familiar voice again. This jackass survived the explosion like he’d originally thought. The man jerked his head back to their vehicle, “Mount up!”

This was a quick hit then. Several of the men, including the survivor, returned to the van. One man stood guard outside the house by the fallen police officers. Another approached the broken-down front door. Shayne figured the only advantage he had was the factor of surprise. He unzipped his coat to expose the white symbol of death painted onto his vest.

Shayne stepped from cover and began approaching the man standing guard. He raised his battered pistol to eye level as he called out, “Hey!”

He could see the horror flashing in the man’s eyes through his ski-mask. He tried to call out, only for a trio of rounds to tear through his chest and splatter open his head. An assortment of shouts came from the van before it abruptly sped off, tires skidding against the ground as they went.

Shayne broke into a hobbling run for the front door, stepping past the other dead officers. As he passed through the demolished entrance, he caught sight of Tepper groaning with pain, hands against his stomach. The commotion caught the attention of the hitman about to finish the job. The masked man stood with a rifle trained on Tepper. He craned his head to look at Shayne as he came to a halt. His eyes took a moment to take in the white skull on Shayne’s vest, causing him to freeze.

Shayne swung the gun up and squeezed the trigger.

A quiet _click_ sounded out as the hammer bit against the primer. In the light of the entrance, Shayne got a clear look at the pistol for the first time since firing it in the garden. The third brass casing caught on the slide and failed to eject. It shouldn’t have been surprising considering the hell this gun had been through.

Shayne corrected the situation by flinging the pistol at the man’s face before he could react. The hefty weight collided with his head, eliciting a cry of pain from the hitman. He stumbled back, discharging his rifle carelessly into the wall around him. Shayne seized the rifle in his hands and slammed his boot up into the man’s groin. The power of the strike dropped the shooter to his knees as he relinquished his grip on the gun.

He turned the weapon over and took a step back. Shayne shouldered and aimed the rifle at the kneeling hitman.

“Blacksmith? Where is he?”

Through the pain, the grunt managed a chuckle, “You’ll never find-”

The bullet blasted a hole through his face, dropping him to the ground. Shayne discarded the rifle and approached Tepper. He was out of patience for these uncooperative shitbags. There was no time for this. All this gunfire was going to draw the police over.

“Topp,” Tepper grumbled as the recognition glinted through his hazy eyes. He shook his head in remorse at the sight of Shayne, “I’m sorry.”

Shayne harbored no love for the doctor after what he’d done to cover up his family’s death. But he could also sympathize. The only reason the doctor had done the deed was because his own family was threatened. Shayne could always respect a foe pitted against him because their own loved ones were on the line. It was the same way he felt about Mike, even after the massive biker threatened to snap Courtney’s neck. He was honorable in the end, and Shayne wouldn’t forget the mercy he showed Courtney – even if it was ultimately the death of him.

“Save it.” Shayne stopped to kneel next to the wounded doctor. He’d expected the fury to be rising back up within him at the sight of Tepper. When he first learned of his involvement, he wanted to strangle the doctor using his handcuffs. Now he just pitied the dying man.

He pressed his hands to Tepper’s midsection, earning a pained hiss from the doctor. Shayne attempted to slow the bleeding for a moment. It was only delaying the inevitable, judging by the severity of his wounds. Those high caliber rounds punched right through him. “The John Doe at the park, who was he?”

Tepper grimaced. His head raised with a shaky nod. Shayne felt the doctor’s hands trembling beneath his own. The doctor admitted, “We found this – this code in the bottom of his shoe.”

Shayne shrugged, drawing no meaning from the revelation. He leaned in a fraction, “What code, doctor?”

“It was a string of numbers,” Tepper shifted and grit his teeth through the pain, “Six rows of numbers.”

“What do the numbers mean?” Shayne ducked his head to meet Tepper’s fading eyes.

“Undercover cops… they use ‘em to be identified if they’re killed.” Tepper’s eyes glanced down one hall, “The original reports are in the safe in my office.” One of the doctor’s bloody hands came up to grip Shayne’s forearm, “Do what you need to do, Topp.”

A drug deal gone south and an undercover cop. It sounded like a failed sting operation. Shayne huffed a sigh of frustration. It hardly brought him any comfort to know what type of senseless death his family died for. Drug deal gone wrong or failed sting – it was all still so pointless.

“What’s the combination?”

Tepper mumbled the numbers out. The words grew faint with each passing syllable. Tepper’s grip on his arm grew slack until the doctor slipped away into oblivion. Shayne gently crossed the doctor’s hand back over his bleeding midsection and muttered, “Rest up, doc.”

He retrieved his discarded pistol not far from where he crouched. Shayne cleared the chamber with practiced hands and searched down the hall Tepper had been looking at. On the way, he grabbed a kitchen towel which he then used to twist the doorknob. He wasn’t sure how thoroughly the police would sweep this mess, but leaving fingerprints was probably a no-no.

The small room was packed with shelves and filing cabinets. Awards and certificates lined the walls of the crammed office. The wooden floor creaked beneath Shayne’s limping steps. Shayne easily found the small safe by one desk. He stopped when he saw the family pictures that stood out among the documents and folders scattered on the surface. A wife as old as Tepper beamed brightly up at him, next to a son that must’ve been a few years younger than Shayne.

They must be out of the city. If they were in the house, they would’ve made themselves known by now. The fact Tepper had witness protection all by himself likely meant he sent his family away so he could face the backlash alone.

Shayne keyed in the combination as instructed. Lacking the time for finesse or precision, Shayne grabbed the entire envelope and prepared to make himself scarce. He hoofed it out of the office and down to the hall. A silhouette by the entrance caught his eye. He skidded to a stop and found Courtney Miller, gun drawn and eyes wide.

A part of Shayne was glad to see a friendly face like hers again. The other was just frustrated. Now she was going to try and get caught up in the shitstorm of his life again, and Shayne would probably let her, if only for the time being. He was too weak to turn her away when she stood right in front of him.

The .380 was still trained on his chest after the first few seconds passed. Shayne’s eyes snapped to the late doctor, the dead gunman, shattered glass, chipped stone, and splintered wood all around them.

Right. This didn’t look good.

“I can explain.”

* * *

“Start talking.” Courtney told him. The gun lowered, but her grip on the weapon remained firm, ready to raise it back up.

“Court,” Shayne pleaded. “This wasn’t me. I just got here.” He spoke with a clear, concise voice. His eyes darted to one of the bodies behind her as he said, “Guys that hit up the precinct did this.”

Even as she ordered him to speak, she realized there was no way this was his work. The guy was holding a pistol that looked like it’d been run over by a truck. Not some belt-fed light machinegun that could tear apart a house.

What was she even _doing_ pointing a gun at Shayne? Of course the gunmen from the precinct were behind this. Shayne was a one-man army, but even he couldn’t be _this_ destructive with nothing but that beat up pistol. Courtney’s eyes went to the nearby fallen corpses and confirmed that at least one of them was dressed up like the hitmen from the precinct. The bodies corroborated Shayne’s story. Shayne wouldn’t hurt the witness protection detail. He never hurt anyone that didn’t deserve it.

“I tried to intervene, but it was too late for Tepper. He gave me the combination to his safe, and I took this.” Shayne extended the documents for her to take.

Courtney was rooted to the spot as she took in the sight of him, not a single shit given for the documents. Shayne was alive and wasn’t responsible for this mess. That was all Courtney’s mind could process. He favored one side as he stood, betraying his seemingly unharmed appearance. The vest and the rest of his clothes likely obscured the worst of the injuries he’d gotten from his escape.

His deep blue eyes searched her for any reaction. His face was vulnerable in that way he only got when speaking to her.

God, she missed that fucking face.

“We need to go.” Courtney made up her mind, “Cops will be here soon.” She jerked her head in the direction of the door.

Seeing that the gun was no longer trained on him, Shayne moved to the discarded rifle on the floor. He drew a kitchen towel from his pocket and hastily wiped it down. Before she could question what he was doing, Shayne asked, “We?”

The little shit was still playing his game of pushing people away, it seemed.

“ _We._ ” Courtney took him by the elbow as he stood back up. “Now let’s go.”

Shayne behaved enough for Courtney to lead him out the front door. They stepped over the fallen bodies and briskly walked towards her parked car. Sirens could be heard in the distance, only emphasizing the urgency of the situation.

“Take the back,” Courtney ordered him as she tugged the driver’s door open.

“Oh my God, Max?”

Courtney felt the smile come into place at the sound of his delighted voice. The engine kicked on by the time Shayne shut the door and dropped the envelope on the seat as he sidled up next to Max. The rapid, frantic thudding of the Pitbull’s tail filled the car as he wagged in excitement. Max let out an assortment of whines and happy yips at the sight of Shayne. As soon as he was buckled in, he was petting the dog all over, giving him the attention he so desperately craved.

Courtney forced herself to focus on the road and get clear of the scene of the shootout. The last thing they needed was for her to crash into a parked car because Shayne reuniting with Max was the most adorably distracting thing she’d seen in recent memory.

The silence of the first few minutes of the drive were filled by Shayne’s cooing at Max, and the overgrown pup’s overjoyed squeaks and licks at his face. In that time, Courtney ran through the options in her mind. With Shayne in the backseat, this kind of officially made her accessory to some crime or another. She was helping out a fugitive presumed dead.

At the same time, this was _Shayne_. He was alive and in one piece and free of handcuffs or shackles. She hadn’t seen him cuff-free in months. The lack of restraints was a good look on him. Courtney preferred him unbound.

That small thought is what drove the certainty home into her bones.

Courtney liked that he was free. She liked the fact that he wasn’t in Rikers dodging inmates. That wasn’t to say he had no threats to dodge out here, but he was _free_. This was his chance to stay free.

Courtney would try and keep it that way.

She set course for her apartment. What they’d do from there could be figured out when it came down to it. The vibration of her phone was a welcome distraction. A glance at the cracked screen told her she had eleven missed calls from Olivia, and she was in the process of making her twelfth.

If Olivia found out Shayne was alive and in her backseat, she’d no doubt urge Courtney to do the responsible and legally correct thing – turn him in so they could restart his trial with a fresh judge, jury, and opposing prosecutor. Reboot the EED defense and have Shayne locked up for decades surrounded by people that wanted him dead. Like a rat in cage surrounded by dozens of other bloodthirsty rats.

Shayne’s presumed death was the perfect opportunity to start over. No trial, no running from the law. This was his chance to be free – his chance for the damn _after_ he deserved.

“Dude,” Courtney glanced at Shayne at the backseat. Both he and Max looked at her attentively. “Keep it down. It’s Olivia.”

Satisfied by his nod, Courtney answered the phone and put it on speaker. She did her best to pretend there wasn’t a dashing blonde fugitive in her car.

“Hey, Liv-Liv.”

“Oh my _fucking_ God, Courtney, what took you so long?”

Courtney’s stomach dropped at the fear and urgency in her voice. Shayne remained silent but leaned in a fraction to hear better.

“Liv, what’s wrong?”

“We just escaped a fucking shooting. Reyes is in a coma. They don’t know if she’ll make it.”

Her heart all but stopped. A glance in the rearview mirror showed Shayne innocently raising his hands and vehemently shaking his head.

“I-is anyone else hurt?”

“Noah was hit. He was wheeled off to the ER a little while ago, but they’re optimistic.” Olivia let out a shaky breath from the other end of the line, “Keith’s okay. He’s whining that his briefcase got smushed, but he’s fine. The cops are giving us a protective detail for now.”

Courtney shut her mouth to prevent herself from stuttering uselessly in response. Olivia continued, “Reyes was convinced that Shayne’s alive and he’d come for her. We didn’t believe her, but…”

“Liv, you know he wouldn’t – I mean,” She glanced once at Shayne, who was listening intently, “If he were alive, and he went after Reyes, he wouldn’t put you three at risk.”

There was a sigh over the phone, and Olivia agreed, “We know. We think the Blacksmith is behind this – cleaning up loose ends, maybe.”

The name jumped out at Courtney. The deduction she made in her mind was instantaneous, linking it to the previous day’s findings. “That’s the guy behind the heroin?” There was a hum from Olivia, prompting Courtney to continue, “So he’s – he’s cleaning up loose ends and what, trying to frame Shayne? Make people think he’s alive to draw attention away from himself?”

“That’s what we’re thinking. If we’re right, then there’s going to be more bodies, Court. People that crossed Shayne, people that know the truth. Blacksmith’s gonna make it look like Shayne’s on a warpath and doesn’t care about the safety of innocents this time.”

Courtney could see Shayne gritting his teeth from the backseat. It was the perfect play for the Blacksmith. By dragging Shayne to the light, he could slip back into the shadows. An investigation into Shayne’s survival would be opened, and he’d be caught and brought back to justice while the heroin kingpin slipped away. If Shayne waged his war his way, keeping innocent bystanders out of the line of fire, he had a better shot of getting away with it. The high-profile attacks on Leak and Grossman, Reyes, and Tepper would bring heat on Shayne that he didn’t need.

Her first course of action was to throw suspicion off so she didn’t look like she was hiding anything, “I’ll, uh – I’ll call Matt and see what I can do about getting protection. He’s on bedrest from home, but I think he can give me a hand.” Courtney left out the fact that she was probably at her safest right now with Shayne in the backseat.

“Good,” Olivia let out a tired sigh, “That’s good.”

“Why were you meeting Reyes?” Courtney asked in an effort to further push the discussion away from herself.

“She wanted our help to get Shayne off the streets since she was sure he’s alive.” Olivia paused, and Courtney could hear the sipping of what was probably a bottle of beer, “Blacksmith left a picture of Shayne’s x-ray in her daughter’s backpack. Keith thinks it was an elaborate setup to get us and Reyes in one room where we could be taken out.”

“Jesus…” Courtney muttered.

“Reyes spilled the beans, though,” Olivia offered on a positive note, “She admitted to trying to cover up the massacre. She had units in place to jump the drug deal between the three gangs and the Blacksmith, but she didn’t clear the park. It went south when the Blacksmith didn’t show, and Shayne’s family got caught in the crossfire because of it. The DNR, shoot-to-kill – it was all her, trying to clean up the mess she made.” Olivia took a deep breath before adding, “The hit in Rikers, too. That was her.”

Courtney shook her head in frustration. The anger wasn’t bubbling up to her chest as strongly as she thought it would. She supposed it was due to the fact that Reyes was already hanging onto a thread of life. There was little more that could be done about that. The muted look of disgust on Shayne’s face had Courtney assuming he felt similarly.

“Tower says she was getting sloppier by the day, cover up after cover up. His hands were tied by the time he joined the office.” Olivia sighed, and gave the good news, “He says if Reyes survives, he’ll take on the case to prosecute her. Says it’s the least he can do.”

“Is Tower solid?” Courtney asked.

“He’s the one who slipped us the Punisher files when this all started. I think he’s been wanting to dish out _real_ justice for a long time now.”

The call ended not long after that. Courtney reassured Olivia that she’d get police protection soon. She would, really. Maybe when Shayne inevitably ran off like he was bound to do.

The pitter-patter of rain soon drummed against the car and brought a new chill along with it. Courtney turned the car’s heater on and set it to low, then flipped her wipers on. Soon, Shayne broke the steady beat of the raindrops to speak.

“Tepper told me about the John Doe. He was an undercover cop.”

The pieces meshed together to finally form a nearly complete picture. Reyes had the undercover cop planted to catch wind of the Blacksmith’s business. He was likely instrumental in setting up the sting operation that cost him his own life. The only remaining mystery was who the hell this Blacksmith was, and why he didn’t show up at Central Park.

“It’s all comin’ together, huh?” Courtney mused aloud.

She took in the sound of the smooth rumbling of his contemplative hum. “Guess so… where are we going?”

“Home.” After a beat, she clarified with haste, “My apartment in Hell’s Kitchen.”

Shayne didn’t oppose that. Instead, he nonchalantly commented, “You didn’t seem very surprised to see me alive.”

“Yeah, you don’t seem surprised that I know, either,” Courtney countered, “Your friend Damien isn’t a very good liar.”

Shayne’s low chuckling filled the car. Max let out a curious yip and received a big scratch on the head as Shayne answered, “Yeah. The worst.”

“He must have patched you up pretty well for you to be running around already,” Courtney noted. Her eyes were focused on the wet roads as they began to reenter the city.

“I wouldn’t call it _running around_ ,” Shayne muttered. Courtney could see him shuffling in the backseat as if checking his injuries. “I’m just hopped up on painkillers and hoping none of my stitches open. So far so good.”

“Real man with a plan, huh?”

Shayne laughed again. Courtney was starting to wonder if he actually thought she was funny, or if the painkillers were just making him loopy. Instead of dwelling on that, Courtney changed the topic. “Isn’t the vest a bit much? Bit of a dead giveaway, don’t you think? I thought you were trying to keep a low profile and let people think you were dead.”

Courtney could see him choosing his words over before he answered, “Anyone that sees this vest is gonna wind up dead.”

“Oh no, are you gonna punish me too?” Courtney flashed a playful smile through the rearview mirror.

Shayne rolled his eyes. He tilted his head as he looked at her through the same mirror. “Courtney,” With a stern tone and a little smile, he ordered her, “Behave.”

Courtney wasn’t sure if it was his word choice or the husky voice with which he said it. The unintentional innuendo that cropped up was too much to handle. Her cheeks, her ears, and her chest grew warm at a disconcerting rate, and her skin was prickling with gooseflesh. The heat washed over her and throughout her entire body. Courtney licked her now very dry lips as the word echoed in her mind.

Behave.

Courtney had to press her lips together when she imagined the word as a warm breath whispered into her ear as a pair of familiar hands roamed her bare skin.

God, she had the hots for the fucking Punisher.

If Shayne noticed the shade of red that she was turning, he made no comment. He simply sat back and petted Max on the head for the rest of the ride. Courtney did her best to be a big girl and focus on the road and not on how much of a horndog she was.

She had a good thing going with Shayne, with trust, understanding, and a deep sense of caring for one another. Now wasn’t the time for this, not when Shayne was still – hell – the guy hardly even had time to properly grieve. He spoke of Nicole and Lizzy often, and she would never want to step on that. Shayne deserved better than her pervy mind.

By the time night had fallen as they entered Hell’s Kitchen, Shayne spoke up, “Court, can we stop at that diner over there?”

She followed the trail of Shayne’s finger to the neon lights of the small diner just by the intersection. “Hungry?”

His lack of an immediate response set an alarm bell or two off in Courtney’s head. Her face must have given it away, because he was quick to address her concern.

“Court – please – I’ll explain when we get down.”

The pleading in his voice left little room for argument. If he thought they needed to stop, then he probably had a good reason. It was a stroke of good luck that at least this was a pet-friendly diner. Courtney squeezed into a parking spot right by the front, and they soon found their way out of the rain and into a booth in the small diner. She didn’t miss the way Shayne walked with a concealed limp.

The pictures on the walls, the choice of lighting, the rustic counter by the kitchen, the beat up and nonfunctional jukebox – they all contributed to the very 80s look and feel of the place. She could see leather-clad greasers and hairspray packing divas making a place like this their frequent haunt back in the day.

Courtney was glad she’d packed extra for Max when she had a feeling that she’d be out all day. The collapsible bowl was laid out, and she filled it with a decent serving of dog food. Max slid down to the tile floor and contentedly dug in. Once the pup was taken care of, she turned her attention to the very anxious looking Shayne as she shrugged off her denim jacket. Shayne had lowered his hood to not look so suspicious but kept the coat on because he’d be flashing his bulletproof vest to the world otherwise. His cap was still set in place. It was better than nothing, and nobody had batted an eye thus far. It was sparsely packed this evening, so it was to their advantage.

Shayne was looking out at the window to their side, observing the street with alert eyes. When he eventually felt the weight of Courtney’s gaze, he brought his attention back to her. She tilted her head expectantly.

“Black van was following us for a bit,” Shayne spoke in a low voice. He rested his arms on the table and shot another discreet glance out the window, “They just circled around the block – still going at it.”

Courtney’s hand subconsciously settled against her bag and the trusty gun within. She evened out her breathing in an effort to keep her rising heart rate in check. It was almost worrisome how their pursuers weren’t making her half as anxious as she should probably be. It may have been a tie between Shayne’s steadfast presence, and the fact that shit kept hitting the fan the past day. All the action and tension were hardly surprising her anymore.

She heaved a heavy sigh and asked, “Are you sure? They here to kill us?”

Shayne’s trigger finger performed its staccato tapping against the table as he weighed the possibilities. “These guys hit hard and messy.”

“You think they would’ve attacked by now?”

“I think they’re here to watch and follow. For now.” Shayne nodded and promptly quieted down as a waitress approached. Their cups were filled with coffee, and they gave their orders to avoid arousing suspicion. Neither of them had much of an appetite given the current stakes, but it was necessary for staying incognito. The waitress thankfully didn’t comment on Shayne’s clear and obvious manner of looking away from her as he spoke.

Shayne peeked over Courtney’s shoulder to ensure the waitress was out of earshot. With another look out the window, he told her, “They made another round. My guess is they’re looking to park, then watch from nearby.”

The realization dawned on Courtney, “You wanted us to stop here so they wouldn’t know where I live?”

A grim look crossed Shayne’s face, and there was a twitch by his nose when he answered, “If they’re this busy, hitting Tepper, Reyes, Leak and Grossman – they probably already know.” With an irate huff at the circumstances, he added, “But yeah, I didn’t want to lead them _straight_ back to your apartment.”

“So, what now?” Courtney busied herself by preparing her coffee. The caffeine would probably make her jitterier, but for the time being, the familiar motions brought a little sense of comfort. There was never a bad time for coffee. She spooned a scant few servings of cream and sugar into her cup as she waited for Shayne’s response.

“Keep our heads down, act like nothing’s wrong.” Shayne pulled the tray of condiments over once Courtney was finished. “Right now, we have the upper hand. They don’t know we’re onto them.”

Courtney watched Shayne with her lips slightly agape. The man was adding cream and sugar into his coffee like it was no big deal. Like he’d been taking his coffee that way this whole time in the nearly two months they’d known each other.

“Wait – I thought – don’t you take your coffee black?”

Shayne paused his stirring to frown at her. An incredulous smile split into his face, breaking away the tension of the Blacksmith’s surveillance. “Says who?”

“That first night in the hospital,” Courtney leaned forward, “I brought you black coffee and you never said a word.”

He snorted out a quiet chuckle, “Yeah, I _shot_ at you just two days before that. I wasn’t about to complain because you didn’t give me cream or sugar.”

Courtney fixed a fierce frown at Shayne as her nearly offended voice called him out, “This was like _two months_ , Shayne. What – what about Olivia, did she know?”

Shayne shrugged in a miserable attempt at disarming her petty anger, “She asked, so I told her how I like my coffee.”

“You never corrected me all those other times.” Her arms crossed and she did everything in her power not to pout at him like a child who’d been wronged.

“It was too late to do that by then,” Shayne, to his credit, looked sheepish even as he grinned at her. “I just lived with it. Not the worst thing in the world. Black coffee from the hospital or the courthouse beats any type of prison coffee, after all.”

“I thought…” Courtney dug deep into her memory, back to that night in Metro-General. She’d specifically prepared her own coffee, then left his black from the machine. “Y’know, you were – you’re like…”

Shayne pressed a hand to his lips to bite back the amusement that threatened to spill out. “What?”

“You were this fucking guy shooting up hospitals – Billy badass, killdozer dude – all frowns and eating concrete for breakfast.”

He had to all but shove his fist into his mouth to stop from laughing out loud and drawing attention to them in the sparsely packed diner. Shayne leaned into the faux-leather booth seat and shook with the effort to keep the laugh back. The movement caught Max’s attention. The Pitbull sat upright, head tilted at Shayne like he was trying to figure out what was wrong.

“Is that how you saw me that night? You thought I was too much of a hard ass for anything but black coffee?” Shayne watched her through the amused glint in his light blue eyes. He didn’t look away from her as he rubbed Max on the head to show him everything was fine.

Courtney didn’t dignify it with a response. Her harshly crossed arms and firm pout were enough. She put the focus back on him to take the attention off her flushed cheeks.

“Anything else you need to come clean about?” Courtney asked with mock offense, “Because you make for a pretty shitty first date.”

There was another huff of laughter from across the table, and Shayne took his turn to cross his arms and look at her. With a lopsided smile and a dubious frown, he asked, “First date, huh? When’d you decide that?”

“Hey, _you_ decided it when you asked me out to dinner five minutes ago.” Courtney fired back.

Shayne raised his hands in surrender before settling them down on the table. Courtney watched as he picked up his (not black) coffee and clinked in against her cup in a toast. Then he brought the cup up to his smirking lips. He sipped once before setting it onto the saucer and looking out the window.

“There’s one thing.” A thoughtful look settled onto his face. “Meant to tell you sooner, but I never really got the chance.”

Courtney was pulling his leg when she asked him that. She hadn’t actually meant it. Her arms came to rest on the table as she leaned in closer to her not-date.

It was a joke, but Courtney would be lying to herself if she said she hadn’t thought of what a date with him could be like. She imagined taking him out to some hole in the wall to eat dinner. Bond over coffee and good food. Max by their side, content and happy in their presence. Laughs and jokes all around. Courtney bet he made for a great date. Maybe in another life, she’d be lucky enough to know what that really felt like. This tease, this _taste_ of what it could be like was enough to drive her mad.

“That package you got before the trial started,” Shayne leaned in as well to keep his voice down, “From Psychic.”

“You knew the sender, didn’t you?” Courtney made that guess the moment she showed Shayne the note long ago. His expression may have been neutral, but he stared at it longer and harder than necessary.

He wore an apologetic smile when he explained, “That was from Damien. I figured he pulled a few strings from a friend or two in the right place.”

The elusive Damien Haas strikes again. Courtney had a feeling Psychic was someone from Shayne’s past. She’d just failed to make the connection of who exactly it was.

“Keith, Noah, Olivia – they were working so hard to keep evidence admissible in court. I didn’t wanna ruin that for them, y’know?” Shayne frowned in thought, “I wanted to tell you but not with them around.”

Courtney settled her hand over his tapping finger. It was almost second nature to her by this point to try and bring him comfort. His hand turned over in a familiar motion to accept her much smaller hand.

“It’s okay.” Courtney smiled, “No harm done, Shayne.”

She drew the familiar strokes against his skin. By touch alone, she already knew the feeling like the back of her hand. Courtney watched him look at the window, ever vigilant. He hadn’t said anything thus far, so Courtney knew not to worry. If there was cause for concern, she trusted him to loop her in. She trusted Shayne with her life. There was little question to it.

“Why Psychic?” Courtney asked. She clarified when he let out a soft hum in question, “Why did Damien call himself Psychic?”

That fond smile she loved broke out on Shayne’s face. In typical fashion, he reeled it in to a more reserved uptick on either corner of his lips. It was a shame. Courtney liked the few times he was unashamedly carefree of his emotions. She’d break that wall down someday.

“That was his callsign during deployment,” Shayne explained, “Like if I’m calling him up on the radio – instead of Haas, we just call him Psychic.”

Predicting her next question, Shayne elaborated further with that wistful look on his good-looking face, “Damien’s got this… uncanny track record for predicting things.”

“Like?” Courtney prompted.

“Like if a mission would go south, or if an MRE had a pack of jalapeno cheese spread…” Shayne’s grin widened as the memories drifted through is mind, “Or if we’d be deploying without the support of our armor – tanks,” Shayne clarified, “Or if command was about to tell us our mail was delayed. Again.”

Courtney really had to meet this guy someday. He sounded like he made for good company. “How is the guy? Does he… know you’re here?”

The mirth fell off from Shayne’s face as he shook his head. Courtney felt a pang of guilt. It was difficult keeping Shayne from brooding for too long. There was so much darkness hanging around him from all the shit he had to contend with. Courtney couldn’t blame him for being pissed off more often than not.

“I met up with him after the explosion so he could patch me up. Couple of hours ago the Blacksmith’s men somehow tracked us down.” Shayne squeezed her hand as she tightened her hold on him.

“Is he okay?”

“Yeah,” Shayne nodded with a proud shine in his eyes, “Damien’s a crack shot. He did most of the work, really.”

“Is that how you found out about Tepper? Blacksmith’s men?” Courtney asked.

Shayne’s affirmative hum confirmed her assumption. He added, “He shooed me off once the shooting stopped. Said he’d take care of the police blowback.”

“He knows where to find a couple of good defense attorneys anyway,” Courtney gave him a knowing wink and was rewarded with a glint of light in Shayne’s darkened mood.

“He’ll be fine.” Shayne agreed, “I told him to clear out of the city once he could. It’s safer that way.”

Courtney was once again reminded of the man’s penchant for trying to push people away to keep them safe. Courtney hated to admit that, at least in Damien’s situation, Shayne had a strong case for keeping him at arm’s length.

The waitress arrived with their orders. She set them down and asked if they needed anything else. After being ensured that they were fine, she was back on her way. Courtney and Shayne stared at the small burgers on their plates, and the ample number of fries on the side. Shayne’s discreet eyes searched beyond the window, out into the dark rainy evening.

He muttered to her under his breath, “They stopped circling. Not sure where they parked. I’m counting four guys – don’t look,” Shayne added in a harsh whisper when she all but pressed her face to the foggy glass to find their pursuers. Courtney sheepishly shuffled in her seat and _behaved_.

“They’re just hanging out by that curb.” Shayne watched them from the corner of his eye for a moment longer before nodding at Courtney, “C’mon. Eat and act natural. Bone apple teeth.”

Courtney nearly snorted her coffee out at his unexpected comedic timing. “You’re so dumb.”

As was usually the case with them, the silence didn’t last for long when they began eating. Shayne’s frequent, subtle glimpses out into the night were beginning to put Courtney on edge. She still trusted him to inform her if shit was about to hit the fan, but the quiet was unnerving.

“So, this Blacksmith – any idea who he is?” Courtney asked after Shayne stared out the window a second too long. He looked back at her and shrugged.

“No clue.”

“The people that work for him, you got a few words in with them, right?”

“Here and there,” Shayne said after gulping down the last of his fries.

“Did any of them say anything that stood out?” Was her next prompt.

He not so subtly snatched a fry from her plate before leaning back. Shayne made it a point to ignore the dirty look she shot his way. After a moment’s thought, he answered, “When they got me at the precinct, this one guy was dropping threats.”

“Yeah? Like what?”

Shayne’s face scrunched up like the memory was particularly unsavory. “Said the Blacksmith was gonna cut me up.”

Courtney set her burger down to wipe her hands. She leaned in as she helped Shayne pull the thread, “Were those his exact words?”

“Said he’d give me… incisions.” Shayne muttered, almost to himself. The memory appeared to clear up in his mind as he spoke up, “A big _Y_ , whatever that meant. What do you think?”

This was one that surprisingly made a connection for Courtney. Either Ian’s bad taste in police procedurals or Olivia’s true crime podcasts in her car were to credit for this. A Y incision was used to perform autopsies on bodies, and Courtney relayed the same to Shayne.

“Autopsies?” Shayne frowned, “Well it can’t be Tepper – Blacksmith’s men made short work of him.”

Courtney posed the question, “What would a drug lord be doing associated with autopsies?”

“What’s so special about a Y incision?” Shayne asked, idly gesturing as he spoke, “Any other way autopsies are performed?”

She offered what little media-based knowledge she had, “It looks better than a vertical incision. Like – cosmetically. Smaller scar on the body.”

It appeared to stump Shayne. If he was out of ideas before, it looked as though he had even less now. That was made more apparent when Shayne dug bag into his burger to let the thoughts brew in his mind.

Courtney may as well have been blindfolded and slinging darts at a board with the guesses she was making. Maybe they did autopsies to conceal the cause of death of their victims? No. Maybe the Y incisions were to extract bullets from their victims? Doubtful. Did they perform autopsies on living people as a mode of torture? Possible, but probably ineffective. Did they use the neat Y incisions to hide drugs in bodies? Nah.

Courtney consciously paused herself at that. It wasn’t unheard of. People smuggled drugs in their bodies before. It wasn’t outrageous to think the Blacksmith’s men were doing it with dead bodies. She wasn’t certain, but there were a loose couple memories of stories she’d heard of cartels doing that.

Before Courtney could raise the possibility, Shayne appeared to tense in his seat as he peered out the window. His jaw had locked into place, and he appeared to be holding his breath.

“Shayne?”

He let the breath out and nodded at Courtney, “Thought he was pulling a gun. Just lit up a cigarette.”

Right. There was the much more pressing threat of the four goons outside.

“Are we supposed to start worrying about them yet?” Courtney asked.

Shayne stole another fry off her plate before answering, “They’re probably waiting for you or me to leave.”

She gave a careless shrug, “Should I?”

His chewing slowed down as he frowned at Courtney. “Should you what?”

“Leave? To like – draw them out.” Courtney subtly gestured outside as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world, “Then you could question them.”

She supposed after nearly two months of knowing Shayne, volunteering herself as bait to draw out their attackers was less mind boggling than it should have been.

“No,” Shayne leaned forward, all traces of mirth and lightness gone, “We’re not putting you at risk like that.” There was a beat, then he added in a low voice, “Doesn’t that make you accessory to murder or something?”

The eternal moral battle of helping Shayne was bubbling back to the surface. It was easy to justify the shiv she jammed into Mike’s neck, or the other Irish inmate – or even the Cartel guys in the precinct. Those were pretty clear and cut cases of self-defense, with varying levels of force, whether excessive or not. Actually assisting Shayne in killing people was a different matter entirely. It was a line that Courtney wasn’t too keen on crossing as if it were nothing.

On the other hand, leaving the building wasn’t exactly incriminating. If Shayne happened to pounce on their pursuers as she walked to her car, that didn’t exactly make her _that_ complicit in murder. And on yet another hand, did this _absolutely_ need to end with murder?

“Then don’t – y’know,” Courtney leaned in to match him with a soft voice, “Don’t kill them. Rough ‘em up, question them, I’ll call 911 afterwards.”

Shayne’s eyes were a hell of a thing. Courtney swore they were a bright blue, light and shiny when he was happy. When he joked and laughed and lightened up, however brief those moments may be. When he was endlessly sad, or pissed, or needed to strangle something – Jesus – his eyes were as dark and violent as a tropical storm.

This was one of the latter instances. That dark look crept up onto his face, and he scoffed, “These guys are involved with putting my family in the ground, Court. That’s not something I can let them get away with.”

Shayne took a heavy breath and then leaned back. Courtney watched as he tried to center himself and regain a sense of calm. His wild eyes were flitting one way and another, avoiding her gaze. Finally, he spoke up.

“Ma’am, I can’t tell you how much it means to me – everything you’ve done to help find the truth about my family.” Shayne released a humorless chuckle, “You’re like the only person that doesn’t look at me and see a monster.”

“Because you’re not a monster, Shayne.” Courtney was quick to remind him.

A glimpse of bright blue shone through the dark storm.

“But I gotta finish this and it’s gotta be permanent.” Shayne rested his arms back on the table and tilted his head outside, “Those shitbags out there, the Blacksmith, all of them-”

The frustration broke through Courtney’s chest. Not for the first time, she felt as though she was the only one who cared about what happened to him in the long term. Courtney felt like she alone saw he was on this road to self-destruction and nobody, especially not Shayne, gave a shit.

“Where does that end, Shayne?” She asked in a sharp whisper. “Let’s say you kill these people, then what? The rest of the Irish, Dogs, Cartel? You’re gonna kill them all? All by yourself?”

The certainty in his voice showed nary a sliver of doubt, “You’re goddamn right.”

Courtney scoffed and attempted to circle back to her earlier suggestion, “Just let me help you. I’ll draw those assholes out – you find out what they know about the Blacksmith.”

There was a twitch by the corner of Shayne’s eye when he shook his head and asked, “Yeah? Then what?”

Courtney wanted to believe that the justice system wasn’t broken beyond repair. People like Keith, Noah, and Olivia dedicated themselves to that system, and they were damn good at their jobs. People like them were what made Courtney believe there was a chance. Ian and Anthony at Smosh made Courtney believe in the power of the media – that by exposing the things people didn’t want to be found, they could be dragged out into the light to face justice.

There had to be a way to bring the Blacksmith into the public’s eye where he couldn’t hide behind guns and shadows. Expose him with Smosh, have Leak and Grossman get Tower to serve justice and put him away for life like he deserved.

“We use what they know to expose the Blacksmith,” Courtney ignored his scoff and continued on, “We let the whole world know the truth, and Leak and Grossman help Tower kick his ass and prosecute him – put him away for good.”

She leaned in a fraction closer, “New York City still thinks you died in that explosion, Shayne. This is your chance.”

“My chance for what? To _walk away_?” Shayne leaned back with crossed arms, “Let the Blacksmith and the rest of these assholes get away with some – what – some fucking legal loophole? You think these shitbags aren’t prepared to weasel out of any charges that try to stick?”

Courtney put a brave face to meet Shayne’s angry scowl, “It’s your chance for an _after_ , Shayne.”

The effect her words had on him was instantaneous. The seething on his face had defused down to a frustrated glower. Courtney continued on, “I want there to be an _after_ for you. I want you to have a life – something that doesn’t involve killing and sleeping with a gun under your pillow.”

Shayne was defensive, as he always was when things got heavy like this, “Why do you care so much, huh?”

Courtney swallowed and laid her cards down, “Because you’re a good man, Shayne. I may not approve of what you do, but I understand why you do it.” She licked her lips as she looked into the abysmally deep darkness in his eyes, “Because every time I look at you, Shayne, my heart breaks. All I see is this _endless echoing loneliness_ , and I don’t want that for you.”

Shayne’s eyes avoided hers as he muttered, “I’m not lonely, Courtney.”

“Bullshit,” Courtney scoffed. The problem with moments like these, was that once Courtney started, she had a difficult time getting the flow to stop.

The cold, lonely nights in her apartment crept into her mind. The haunting images of the knife-wielding man in her home, threatening to hurt her and her friends. The utter, bleak solitude of standing alone against him with nobody but herself to rely on.

The correctional officers dragging her away where she couldn’t fight back to back with somebody who she trusted her life with. The horror, not knowing if she’d see him in one piece again.

The greater terror yet of his beaten, bleeding form marching out of the precinct to certain death. How she stood surrounded by all the officers but had never felt more alone in her whole life watching him go.

Courtney felt the icy chill against her skin, even with the diner’s nearby heater emanating warmth. She blinked back the dampness that threatened to crowd her vision. She gulped down the lump in her throat as the words continued to spill out.

“Sometimes, it’s like – I think that’s all life is – we’re just fighting not to be alone.”

Shayne uncrossed his arms and nudged his empty plate slightly to the side. He leaned against the table as he asked her, “What do you want then?”

The conviction in Shayne’s eyes told her there was no convincing him to stand down. Not now. Not while he was still hurting, and the pain of losing Nicole and Lizzy was still so raw and fresh and raking against his mind.

Courtney fought anyway. It was the only way she could imagine Shayne living long enough without his luck finally running out.

“I’ll write the story. We let the truth hang them, Shayne. With Smosh, with Leak-” Courtney opened her mouth to continue but was cut off by another scoff.

“It’s not going to go down that way – you saw how this shit went up in flames with Reyes.” The furrow in Shayne’s brow deepened as he leaned in closer across the table, “You really think this Blacksmith isn’t ready to pull the same tricks he _just_ did? The same shit Reyes did?”

“Shayne, let me-”

“Court,” Shayne grunted, “I can’t go after these people and keep you safe. I can’t do both-”

Courtney huffed at him as she fired back, “You don’t have to keep me safe.”

“What do you mean I don’t have to keep you safe?” Shayne growled, “My family’s _gone_ , Court.”

The harsh whisper may as well have been deafening in the tense space between them. For once, Courtney was the one avoiding his fiery gaze as he stared her down. His anger left as soon as it came when Shayne added in a much softer voice, “I cannot let that happen to you.” With a shaky breath, he said, “You’re all I’ve got left.”

The heartachingly honest confession only served to reinforce the notion of how lost and lonely Shayne was. Her eyes went back to find his. They were a mixing pot of emotions, an amalgamation of grief, sorrow, loss, loneliness, longing, and countless more she didn’t dare try to name.

There wasn’t much left that Courtney could do. She offered instead her final bit of assistance, “I have a meeting with the colonel soon. We’re supposed to talk about your time in the service. My bosses want me to write a profile of you. Like a memorial piece.”

Shayne watched her with sharp, attentive eyes. She wished those blue eyes would never look away.

“Do you want me to make that happen?” Courtney asked, “It’ll keep the public mourning you. Less time for the Blacksmith’s shootings to be pinned on The Punisher. Can’t frame a dead man, y’know?”

His gaze shifted towards the window, and the vague outlines of the men a distance away, watching and waiting. She could see the gears turning in Shayne’s head, already calculating the odds that she might be hurt before she reached the car.

Courtney looked at her parked vehicle and at the distant silhouettes. Her eyes went back and forth from them, her car, and the intersection, to get a bead on how much they could see. She continued, “I’ll head straight for the car and book it. They don’t have a line of sight on the front door, or the driver’s side of my car. They’ll only know we’re leaving when the car is leaving. That’ll make them scramble for their van, then you can do what you need to do.”

“Court…”

“Shayne, I’ll be fine.” Courtney reached for his hand just as he did the same. They met in the middle, fingers interlocking. Courtney’s eyes flicked once towards their joined hands, then back to Shayne’s face.

He finally gave his reluctant nod. With a polite raising of his free hand, he signaled for the bill. Courtney began reaching for her wallet but stopped when he waved her off. Shayne withdrew his hand from hers so he could pull out the loose assortment of bills from his coat.

Shayne offered her a smirk as he tried to lighten the mood, “Least I can do. Gotta make up for being a shitty first date, after all.”

Courtney smiled, but the joke didn’t land as well as she knew it was supposed to. It was hard to even manage that smile when she knew Shayne was marching back off into danger alone. Once the payment was handed off, Courtney posed the question she’d been dreading to ask, “Am I going to see you again?”

His Adam’s apple bobbed with an uncertain gulp. Courtney appreciated his honesty, even if it was a knife to her heart, “I need to do this my way, Court.”

Translation: I don’t want to involve you in my murderous lifestyle. I’m too dangerous to be around, so I need to keep you far away.

Courtney could smack him, but she was polite enough not to.

“You gotta walk out now – go to your car.” His eyes avoided hers as he said, “I can’t walk out with you.”

She swallowed the lump in her own throat. Shayne could be speaking literally or figuratively, and she wasn’t sure which. Courtney’s throat was tight in either case. She always hated goodbyes, and this was as shitty as they came. It was as if Max sensed the mood. He was up on his feet and looking at either of them as he let out a low whine. Shayne scratched at the Pitbull’s head while Courtney wiped off his bowl and packed it up.

“You take good care of her, yeah?” Shayne muttered to Max. The dog wagged his tail with uncertainty, like he knew Shayne was leaving once more. The man pressed a loving kiss to the dog’s head as Courtney stood up and took hold of his leash.

Shayne had already said his part. Courtney now wanted to get out of here as quickly as possible before the waterworks threatened to break out. The dread of not knowing when she’d see him again – if she’d ever even see him again. The anxiety of not being able to tell whether he was alive or not at any given time – God – she had to bite her lip to remain composed. Courtney took a step and prepared to make a beeline for the door.

Shayne’s hand eased around to the small of her back and brought her to a dead stop. Sensing her tension, he was quick to ask, “This okay?”

Courtney could lose herself in those caring eyes. With a clearing of her throat, she answered, “Of course.”

He pressed his lips to her cheek in the softest, most heartachingly melancholic way possible. She felt the sadness and the yearning mixing together in the emotions he kissed into her skin. The fact that it was so reminiscent of her dreams made her chest ache all the more. Shayne pulled back too soon, and she just barely stopped herself from whimpering at the absence of his touch.

“Take care,” Shayne said, as if he wasn’t the one about to throw himself into harm’s way.

Courtney smiled, more for his sake than anything else. “You too.”

* * *

It was with a heavy heart that Shayne watched Courtney and Max exit the diner. He leaned against the bar counter, waiting for the to-go cup of coffee he just ordered. Damien’s cap on his head remained pulled low, hiding his face from the waitress and the few occupants in the eatery. Shayne observed Courtney and Max hop into the car with haste and begin to pull away. Across the street, the silhouettes were only now taking notice of the car’s movement. There was chatter between one another, but Shayne could hardly guess what was being said. In the dark, rainy night, he couldn’t make out their faces, either.

The cup of coffee was set down by Shayne’s side, just as the Blacksmith’s men began to move. Shayne picked up the cup and put down a bill that more than covered the cost of the coffee. Shayne popped a painkiller from the small bottle in his coat and downed it with a sip of the steamy drink. Courtney’s car was long gone by the time Shayne stepped out and began his hunt. He pulled his hood back up and fell into pursuit. The men across the road had already turned their backs, walking down another street. With a glance down either side of the road, Shayne crossed.

They were walking a good block or two from the diner. Shayne wasn’t terribly familiar with Hell’s Kitchen, so he didn’t hang too far back from his quarry. He kept his head down on the off chance they glanced back. He strategically kept a few people between him and the small group at all times as he maintained the tail. A good five minutes passed before they reached their destination. The four men were about to walk into an alley for the last time.

Shayne still hobbled around with a slight limp and was painfully aware of how battered he was. This wasn’t a fight he could allow to draw on for a substantial amount of time. It had to be quick, ruthless, and efficient. It was a good thing he was fairly proficient at that.

Shayne exaggerated his limp and walked with a stagger as he entered the mouth of the alley. Their van was parked a short walk down the narrow passage. He could tell by the cuts of their clothing that they were packing soft Kevlar vests. Shayne’s thick coat was bulky enough to obscure the form-fitting vest he was wearing. Similarly, the odd protrusion here and there along their waistlines spoke of the concealed pistols they were hiding.

It didn’t take long for his stumbling to be noticed. With his hood down, he didn’t look any different from anyone else drugged up or drunk out of their skull. Shayne took care not to spill the hot cup of coffee through the loose lid. Shayne placed one hand to the alley’s slick brick wall to steady his fumbling steps. This area was dark – darker than the rest of the night beyond the alley. Shayne couldn’t tell them apart or see shit. All he could make out were their figures and silhouettes, so he had to make do.

“Who the hell is this guy?” One of them asked in a sharp whisper.

The familiar voice that had been bugging Shayne for a day now answered, “I dunno. Get him outta here.”

Shayne was keeled over as he stumbled forward, keeping his features obscured until the last possible moment. Two of the Blacksmith’s men came to a stop in front of him, while the rest stood back to watch.

“C’mon, bud – get outta here.”

Shayne’s snappy hands acted with precision and purpose. His right drew the battered pistol tucked into the back of his pants. His left jerked in the direction of the man just a smidge bit farther away.

The burning coffee splattered into his face, sending him recoiling back with a cry of pain. The pistol in Shayne’s other hand blasted two rounds into the Kevlar at point-blank, penetrating the tough fibers, tearing flesh, and shattering bone.

The two at the back let out a cacophony of curses and shouts, fumbling to draw their weapons and react in time. The battered gun had finally been emptied, so Shayne flung it with all his might at the burned man. The sturdy steel split his cheek open as it smashed into his face. The force sent him staggering up against one of the walls. Shayne lunged at him, throwing all his weight into a debilitating blow to the face. His head snapped back against the harsh brick wall, dazing him.

Shayne reached behind the man, tugging his pistol free from the holster and simultaneously yanking him forward. Shayne’s swollen foot wasn’t enough to slow him down as he maneuvered into position with the grace of a dancer. The crack of gunshots filled the alley and dug into Shayne’s human shield. He let out a pained yell, begging his allies to hold their fire. Unable to take precise aim behind his wriggling cover, Shayne discharged the pistol at the two men in a wild flurry.

A heavy thud signaled to Shayne that he got at least one of them. The abrupt halt to the gunfire prompted Shayne to strike. He shoved his human shield to the side, executing him with the final bullet in his chamber. He worked through the throbbing in his ankle, charging at the last man as he was mid-reload.

His gun was discarded in favor of a knife being drawn from a sheath by his back. Shayne tracked it by the slightest glint in the darkness. He was forced to break off his charge, taking a clumsy step to the side as the knife came swinging.

Shayne felt a pinching sensation along his torso as he contorted to weave out of the way of the knife. As if this guy’s swinging wasn’t bad enough, a stitch or two was coming loose.

His practiced dodges and sidesteps were causing the man to fall into a rhythm. There was a swing and a stab here – and an attempt to grab at him there. Shayne knew better than to close the distance where the knife was deadliest. Once the opportunity presented itself, Shayne struck.

He’d shifted to an icepick grip and swung the blade down onto Shayne. He stepped in now, blocking the knife’s descent by meeting him at the wrist with his own. His fist crashed once into the man’s face, sending him jerking back. Shayne’s hand hooked onto the man’s armed hand and soon established control of his wrist. With a wide step, Shayne swung the man’s right hand into place. A powerful kick to the knee, and a firm twist later, Shayne knocked the man to the ground and secured the knife.

The familiar texture and shape of the knife in his hands made his blood run cold. His fingers danced across the surface of the grip, confirming what he already knew. Shayne knew this type of blade better than he knew himself.

It was a KA-BAR – the Marine Corps’ standard fighting and utility knife.

The sinking feeling in his gut broke open, twisting and turning into an endless pit. Shayne reached for the man squirming on the ground.

He knew that voice.

Shayne knelt down, pressing his knee into the man’s spine and eliciting a pained cry he’d heard before.

His fingers dug into the man’s short blonde hair in a vise-like grip. Shayne jerked his head back to get a good look at his features in the darkness of the alley.

The old scars deforming half his face were all Shayne needed to see before he plunged the knife into his neck.

This was Gosnell. Colonel Schoonover’s right-hand man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Dramatic Music* So, who saw that coming? Let me know if you suspected it! I'm curious how many people picked up on the loose hints here and there that tie back to The Blacksmith. I hope you enjoyed this lengthy chapter. It's certainly one of my favorites so far for the diner conversations alone. More revelations are ahead in the next chapter, and I can't wait to share that as well. You guys and gals have a great day now!


	21. One Shot, One Kill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Courtney tends to her interview. Shayne deals with the Blacksmith.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some graphic violence in this chapter. Be warned.

It was a good half an hour’s drive up to Schoonover’s address. He lived a few neighborhoods away from Tepper, in a secluded spot far from the hustle and bustle of the city. Courtney drove down a rough but wide dirt road, and past the American flag gently billowing against the evening breeze. The large white house stood silent among the nature surrounding it. The trees around these parts had already shed their leaves prematurely in anticipation for the cold winter to come.

The rain had stopped by the time Courtney parked her car next to Schoonover’s pickup, not far from the steps leading up and onto the colonel’s patio. She was painfully reminded of Shayne’s departure when she saw the envelope he left in the backseat. It was almost like a parting gift of some sort. As if he offered her the chance to do with it as she pleased. Courtney had a feeling it would just gather dust in her home or on her desk in Smosh.

She was here to get the colonel’s story on who Shayne was so she could write his memorial profile. He’d made it perfectly clear he didn’t want her to write a risky piece that would put a target on her head. If her compliance had to be her own final gift to Shayne, then so be it. Let the man have a little piece of mind as he waged his war far away from her.

Courtney left the windows open a crack to give Max some air. He could sit tight for the time being so she could focus on the colonel. Courtney needed all the concentration she could muster to avoid thinking of the final kiss Shayne pressed to her cheek.

The doorbell gave a ding as she pressed it, alerting the colonel of her presence. With a glance at her watch, she realized she was a little late. It was hard not to be after everything that had just transpired this evening. Soon enough, the door opened, revealing Colonel Schoonover. He was dressed in a flannel button-down and some loose slacks. It was somehow fitting for a home interview at this hour.

The colonel’s composed eyes took in her appearance before he cracked a friendly smile. “I see you’re dressed as Ms. Page today.”

Courtney chuckled, but nodded in affirmation. The jeans and the denim jacket didn’t quite shout professional legal assistant. The colonel had figured her out on day one. There was no pretense when she called him up earlier to schedule their meeting. He already knew she was a reporter and just embedded with the lawyers.

“Please, come in,” Schoonover opened the door fully and stood to the side to allow her entry. Courtney stepped in, taking in the rather grand house around her. Large doorways and finely crafted wooden furniture spoke of the man’s rustic and surprisingly expensive taste. He placed a hand on her back to lead her through the big doorway into his study.

The wood-paneled walls lent a cabin-like aesthetic to the spacious home office. Shelves built into the walls were lines with books, while the rest of the walls were adorned with medals, certificates, and photographs. A beautiful desk was positioned near the large window to one side, while a brown leather couch sat not far from it. A fireplace by the center of the wall filled the room with a comforting warmth. Above the mantelpiece was a portrait of the colonel in his prime – young and neat in his pressed dress blues long before he became an officer in the Marines.

“Thanks for seeing me so late,” Courtney gave an apologetic look. She recalled his story some time back, of how he and his wife were never able to have children. How Shayne was the closest thing he had to a son. “I hope I’m not bothering you or your wife.”

Schoonover bowed his head for a moment and gave her a sad smile, “I suppose I didn’t clarify that. She passed away years ago.”

Courtney’s heart skipped a beat at her misstep, “Oh – I’m sorry, colonel, I had no idea.”

Schoonover shook the notion off with his good hand, “Nah. No harm done.” He took a few steps towards his ornate wooden desk and leaned against it, “Old wounds. No way to go but forward.”

She shifted her weight from foot to foot as the briefly awkward air settled between them. The colonel was quick to disarm it before it could permeate the office, “Can I get you some coffee?”

Courtney lost count of the cups she’d had throughout the day, including the last one in the diner. The caffeine was the main reason her fingers were a little twitchy tonight. The other was the ever-present anxiety of worrying about Shayne’s wellbeing. She gave a polite shake of her head, “It’s fine. I’m like, five cups in already.”

Schoonover chuckled, “Shayne would call that a good start.”

Courtney cracked a smile. She could see that shit-eating grin on Shayne’s face from behind his cup of coffee.

“I’m glad you’re writing this article about Shayne, Ms. Miller,” Schoonover’s wistful gaze went over the numerous frames mounted on the wall and all the memories they contained. “The _real_ Shayne. Wherever he is, alive or dead…” His frown settled on the fireplace for a moment, “People should see the real Shayne.”

“That’s the goal.” Courtney nodded. She pushed the feeling of Shayne’s soft lips against her cheek out of her mind. “To show people that Shayne wasn’t just _The Punisher_.”

Schoonover watched her with those analytical eyes of his. She knew it was fitting for a former high-ranking officer such as himself. Always thinking, always computing, always putting pieces together.

“May I?” Courtney motioned to the wall and all the icons of the past they displayed.

“Please,” Schoonover gestured with his prosthetic hand. He gave a small smile, “That’s what they’re there for.”

Courtney took steady steps to look over the frames. The pictures were what caught her eye first. Schoonover, through the years, in his military fatigues. He stood with other men and women in the Corps, fixing the camera with his stern and watchful eyes.

She spotted Shayne’s closely cropped dirty blonde hair and looked the picture over. It was identical to the one in Shayne’s home. He was front and center, with an arm slung around either shoulder of the men around him. Damien stood to one side with a lopsided grin, drab trauma kit in hand. Schoonover was on Shayne’s other side, jaw stiff and serious for the camera.

Her eyes wandered to the next photo. “During the trial, you spoke of Shayne as a Marine…” In this picture, Schoonover and Shayne stood on either side of a bed in what looked like a medical tent. The warm glow of the middle eastern sun beat down and through the window. Lying in the bed was a man with bright blonde hair who was wrapped up in bandages. His arm was in a sling, and half of his face was concealed by the heavy bandaging. Courtney could only imagine the kind of damage that man had to endure.

“I did,” Schoonover affirmed, “It was our primary bond.”

The next picture had a majestic mountain range for a backdrop. A whole crew of men crowded the framed photo. They wore protective plate-carrier vests over their fatigues. Helmets were tucked into the crooks of their arms, and pouches were loaded with magazines. Rifles were slung across chests, and pistols were tucked into holsters. Courtney figured it must have been taken not long before they were deployed into a combat mission.

“You talked about respect… gratitude,” Courtney spoke quietly as she placed names to faces in the picture.

Damien stood at the leftmost side with an arm around Shayne’s shoulder. Immediately next to Shayne was an unfamiliar man, with his arm also wrapped around the former. He was ruggedly handsome, with dark brown hair impeccably styled for someone in the middle of a war. He was leaned in close with Shayne and Damien, and matched their wide, wacky smiles. Courtney figured maybe this was the famous Billy Russo who Shayne fondly spoke of.

Schoonover stood next to him, along with the blonde man in the previous photo. His face wasn’t yet obscured by the pound of bandages wrapping up whatever horrible wounds he suffered. Courtney turned back to face the colonel, centering herself back on their conversation.

“There aren’t a lot of people around that have nice things to say about Shayne,” Courtney watched the colonel give a solemn nod, “I guess my question is… did you, y’know, like him?”

The colonel gave an amused frown. He smiled as he repeated her, “Like him?”

Courtney leaned against the armrest of the leather couch. She drew a pen and the little notebook from her purse as she clarified, “As a friend. What was he like?”

Schoonover’s eyes grew distant, looking off at the wall of memories behind her. After a moment, he answered with a short laugh, “It’s funny. In war, making friends is a two-sided thing.”

With a frown, the colonel explained, “You don’t want to get too close to anyone because,” He shrugged, “You’re not all coming back. But at the same time,” Schoonover motioned with his good hand, “You have to feel something for the guy next to you. Otherwise, what are we even fighting for?”

Courtney scribbled a note or two of the colonel’s musings as he went on with a chuckle, “You know, Shayne used to sing this horrible little song. He picked it up from a kid’s show Lizzy used to watch.”

She felt the smile creeping up to her face as she could clearly picture it in her head. “What song?”

Schoonover scoffed with a shake of his head. His hands rested on either side of the desk he leaned his hip against. “The opening to Spongebob goddamn Squarepants. He picked the damn thing up while on leave and brought it with him to Afghanistan.”

“It was,” Schoonover’s eyes rolled into the back of his head, “ _Infectious_.”

Courtney giggled at that. She could see the dummy in his fatigues, singing to his men, probably joined by Billy and Damien.

The colonel confirmed her suspicion, “It went through everyone like a virus – it was worse than Malaria,” He huffed a fond laugh, “It got even worse when Russo and Haas joined in to spread the good word. Soon, the whole unit was singing that damn song.”

Courtney grinned at the colonel. There was a touch of melancholy as she told him, “I don’t think I ever saw Shayne like that for myself.” The closest she’d seen him be a total goof was his comedy act online. It was a miracle the internet hadn’t discovered it yet and put The Punisher’s budding comedy career on blast.

“You probably never saw him do impressions, either.” The colonel laughed as her eyebrows went up in disbelief.

“Impressions?” Courtney laughed, “Like of celebrities?”

Schoonover’s face scrunched up in mild distaste, “Celebrities, yeah – but the unit really got a kick out of his impression of me.” He wore a thoughtful frown as he explained, “Shayne has a knack for that. He’s good at catching those subconscious behaviors, ticks.”

Courtney could see it. Shayne was a perceptive guy. It was just a relief that she could read him as easily as he could read her like an open book.

“It’s almost unnerving sometimes,” The colonel added in a mutter, “The way he can look into a person’s soul.”

Eyes, as dark as obsidian, and yet somehow as bright as sapphire, flashed in her mind.

Courtney chuckled softly, “I know what you mean.”

Schoonover gave slow, deliberate nods, “Wherever Shayne is now, I hope he finds that better part of himself again.”

The idea tugged at Courtney’s heartstrings. Shayne was in a dark alley somewhere beating the life out of the Blacksmith’s men. He wasn’t finding that better part of himself anytime soon.

Courtney gulped, but offered the colonel a small smile. She eased off the armrest, taking slow steps back towards the wall and all the stories it could tell through the pictures. The group photo with Shayne, Damien, Billy, Schoonover, and the unknown man caught her eye once more.

“What was Shayne’s relationship like with Billy Russo?” Courtney found herself asking.

Schoonover gave a contemplative hum as she took unhurried paces along the wall, scanning the other pictures. Courtney stopped by the photos of a younger Schoonover, his hair a light brown from his youth.

“Those two were partners in crime,” Schoonover said, “If Shayne wasn’t messing around with Damien, it was with Billy. When Damien was discharged a year or two ago, Billy was Shayne’s last close friend in the unit.”

Courtney smiled at the prospect of Shayne just letting loose and being the goof that he was meant to be. Her eyes wandered over the photos, eventually settling on one. A younger Schoonover crouched next to another unfamiliar man, who sat on the grassy ground. The latter’s leg was bandaged up, and a trace of blood could be seen seeping through the fabric. Schoonover wore a confident smile, one hand on the man’s shoulder, his other on a drab olive bag with a red cross. The colonel used to be a corpsman.

She frowned at the new information. Courtney took a step back to look towards the certificates and awards hanging from the wall.

“Those two kept each other in check, too. If one was being too rash or impulsive, the other would ground him.” Schoonover went on about the duo’s relationship, “They relied on each other. Brothers through thick and thin.”

Courtney’s eyes flickered over to the words on the various framed certificates. The colonel started out as a corpsman before trading it in for officer’s training in the Marines.

A nervous, fleeting thought crossed Courtney’s mind as the realization of his medical background sunk in. A corpsman would know how to perform autopsies. Y incisions and all.

But that was ridiculous, Courtney reminded herself as the rumbling in her stomach grew inconsolable. The colonel had been nothing but helpful and supportive of them and their trial since they met. He couldn’t be the Blacksmith.

The loud hum of her phone’s vibration nearly caused her jittery self to jump in surprise. It was going off in her pocket. Courtney turned to the colonel, who watched her with attentive eyes. She offered him an apologetic smile as her gut continued to grumble with unease. Olivia’s name on the broken screen somehow added to the urgency. With how shaken up she was during their last conversation, this call had to be important.

“I’m sorry, colonel, do you mind if I take this?”

He offered her a small smile, “Please. Go ahead.”

Courtney raised the phone up and faced the pictures on the wall as she answered, “Hello?”

“Court, where are you?”

The alarm bells began to ring within Courtney’s head. “I – I’m at the colonel’s. He’s helping me with an article.”

“Courtney, get out of there now.”

The deep pit in her stomach doubled in size as her heart violently hammered against her ribs. “What?”

“Keith heard this buzzing sound from his bag after he fell on it during the shooting – the briefcase Schoonover gave him.”

Courtney swallowed the nervous lump in her throat as the dread seeped into her bones, “What was it?”

“It was a bug, Court. A surveillance bug, like a mic. He’s been listening in on every conversation that’s been around that bag.”

The pieces began to fall into place. He’d been playing them since day one.

“Court, I don’t know what his deal is, but this isn’t normal. Get out of there. Get out-”

The phone was plucked from her hand and silenced. She didn’t have the chance to turn before the stiff muzzle of a pistol was pressed against her back.

Courtney’s shuddering breaths rocked her frame as The Blacksmith heaved a sigh from behind her.

“I had a feeling they’d find that sooner or later,” He grumbled, “It stopped transmitting after Ms. Sui knocked Leak and Grossman to the ground.”

He didn’t show up to the office that first day to give them his _token of gratitude_. He was gauging how much they knew about his involvement and planted his bugged briefcase. His timely disappearance after the final session in court suddenly made sense. He wasn’t tending to _work_ ; he was ordering his men to mount an attack on Shayne’s prison transport. He wasn’t pissed that Shayne had seemingly died in the explosion; he was furious that his men couldn’t finish the job. His schedule wasn’t too busy for an earlier appointment; he was too preoccupied hunting and framing Shayne. It wasn’t by faith that he knew Shayne was alive, it was because his men were actively hunting him down.

“Let’s go for a drive, Ms. Miller.” Schoonover’s prosthetic bumped into Courtney’s shoulder to guide her towards the door.

“You had the precinct hit because we – we found out about your drugs,” Courtney found herself stammering out, “You – you shot Reyes. You tried to kill Leak and Grossman.”

He gave a disinterested hum, nudging the pistol into her back as they reached the front door. “Open it.”

Courtney was forced to comply. She was no fucking special forces hotshot like Shayne. She couldn’t wrestle the gun away from him like this. Her erratic breaths eased a fraction, even as her heart continued to crash against her ribcage with a vengeance. She had to take this step by step and wait for the perfect opportunity to escape.

Courtney opened the door, exposing them to the evening chill. Her teeth chattered – more from her frayed nerves than anything else. The gun to her back urged her down the steps. From her car, Max was barking fiercely, claws scratching up the glass of the rear window. He threw himself at the door in an effort to free himself, but it was no use.

“We’re taking my pickup,” Schoonover declared, leading her over to the vehicle in question. The pickup unlocked with a sharp chirp, and the keys were pressed into her hands from behind her. “You’re driving.” The thought to swing at the colonel crossed her mind. There were those split seconds she had. The guy had one hand – he couldn’t possibly have the gun back to her so quickly –

The muzzle against the back of her head had her breath hitching in her throat.

“No funny business.” The Blacksmith’s icy voice ordered her.

Courtney swore to take the next opportunity then. She opened the door and climbed into the driver’s seat. Schoonover stepped around the vehicle from the front, keeping the gun trained on her at all times.

The .380 was still in the bag slung around her figure. If she could just –

“Hands on the wheel!” Schoonover yelled.

Fuck.

Courtney complied as the colonel clambered up into the passenger seat. He shut the door and nodded towards the ignition, gun on his lap and prepared to fire. “Start the car.”

She got her seatbelt into place and attempted to get him talking – anything to distract him. “Where we going?”

“Start the fucking car, Ms. Miller.”

Courtney swallowed the knot in her throat and turned the ignition as Max continued to howl and yap with fury. She was on her own. No Shayne to play guardian angel while he was off hunting down wild leads on a damn goose chase. She shouldn’t have been surprised. With how the colonel’s men seemed to be giving him vague threats he couldn’t interpret, there was no way he’d be making the connection this soon. For all she knew, the men from earlier were a diversion to purposely lead him away from Schoonover.

They were driving down the desolate roads in the backwoods of the area. It was so dark, she could barely see twenty feet ahead of her, even with the headlights up on full blast. Schoonover grunted the occasional direction, telling her to turn here or there as their bleak surroundings rolled by.

The Blacksmith eventually broke the silence with an irate huff, “Should’ve been smart, Ms. Miller. You should’ve let that damn story die with the explosion.”

There was a grumble under his breath before he added with a scoff, “ _The Real Shayne Topp_. Like you cared about him.”

Courtney bit back the retort and the anger that flared up in her chest. She didn’t need to be shot prematurely because she couldn’t reel her emotions in. She set her jaw in place and tightened her grip on the wheel. She was getting out of this. She didn’t know how just yet, but she would.

She could see the colonel’s eyes looking over at their unnoteworthy surroundings beyond the road, filled with dark trees, mossy logs, and fallen leaves. He must have seen something that she couldn’t, when he ordered her, “Pull over.”

Courtney’s eyes instead locked onto the dim headlights speeding from the coming intersection to their side.

She depressed the gas pedal, jerking the colonel back. They picked up speed approaching the intersection as the other vehicle drew closer at an alarming rate. Schoonover regained his composure and pointed the gun up to her head, “I said pull over!”

Courtney slammed on the brakes as they neared the intersection, swerving towards the side of the road. The force of the shift in momentum sent the colonel crashing ribs-first into the dashboard while the seatbelt painfully dug into Courtney’s skin. The black van at the intersection came to a harsh stop in front of them, narrowly avoiding Schoonover’s pickup.

The colonel’s gun clattered to the floor as he groaned in pain. Courtney’s hands dove into the bag still wrapped around her body.

“Don’t move!” Courtney shouted as the .380 came up to aim at the colonel. She gripped the gun with both hands, keeping it tucked in towards herself where he couldn’t wrestle it free. Schoonover straightened up in his seat, hands on his lap. Through the pain, he gave her a harsh sneer.

“Get that thing out of my face,” Schoonover growled. He began to bend down as he called her bluff, “You’re not gonna shoot-”

The crack of her pistol was deafening in the confined space of the pickup’s cabin. The hot brass casing ejected, bouncing off her hand and leaving an angry red welt. The colonel reeled back in agony, gripping his leg as blood steadily oozed free.

Before Courtney had the chance to order him to exit the vehicle, the passenger’s window shattered. A pair of hands gripped the colonel by his collar and ripped him free from the seat. Schoonover hit the road with a sharp grunt. The assailant crashed his fist down into Schoonover’s face in multiple powerful strikes before he straightened up.

Shayne’s face, red with anger came up to look at her. His expression changed, the relief overpowering the rage as he circled around the pickup to the driver’s side. Courtney popped the door open and unbuckled her seatbelt.

“You okay?” Shayne’s hands were on her face, then briskly running across her arms as he inspected her head to toe for injuries.

The tightness in her throat came back. The emotions were threatening to spill out once more. She’d reeled it in for her own sake up until this moment. She was fucking taken hostage at gunpoint and was forced to drive to God knows where. She was not _okay_ – nothing about what had just happened was _okay_. She’d been confronted by her own mortality again with another goddamn gun in her face. Then here came Shayne in the nick of time buying her the distraction she needed and asking her if she was fucking _okay_.

Courtney didn’t know how he figured it out or how he got here so quickly (probably dodging a speeding ticket or two). She didn’t know how he knew where to track the pickup.

But he was here, and he was in one piece. He looked pale taking in the sight of her.

“I’m okay,” Courtney’s breathless voice managed to answer, even if she was anything but. She suppressed a shudder as his hands eased their way back to her face to cup her cheeks. Shayne seemed to take that as a satisfactory answer. His thumbs brushed against her skin and his eyes flickered once towards her lips before he pulled away.

It was like ripping a band-aid off. That was how quickly Shayne removed himself from his position in front of her. He powered through his limp with menacing steps around the front of the car and back towards the colonel. He glanced once at the dark tree line then bent down to grab at Schoonover. There was nothing but malice in his movements.

Courtney fought for Shayne anyway, even if she already knew the outcome.

“Shayne,” Courtney hopped out of the pickup, “Shayne, you don’t have to kill him.”

He patted the colonel down in search of concealed weapons. Shayne instead found her cracked phone in Schoonover’s pocket. He grabbed a fistful of the colonel’s flannel and prepared to drag him into the woods. Shayne looked up at Courtney with his dark eyes. “Go back to the car.”

“It doesn’t have to be this way.” Courtney rounded the pickup to stand closer to them.

“Go.” Shayne glowered at her as he tossed the phone over. Courtney fumbled to catch it before she went on.

“Please – Shayne, we find out what he knows – then we’ll use Smosh, we’ll use Leak and Grossman.” Courtney took another step closer as she pleaded.

“Yeah…” Schoonover grumbled, “Find out what I know.”

“You shut up!” Courtney snapped at the colonel. “Shayne, please,” She begged, “Do it for Nicole, do it for Lizzy.”

There was a tick in Shayne’s jaw as he looked away from her. “Take the pickup, go back to the house. Get your car and go. I’ll deal with the truck later.”

Shayne began to drag the wriggling colonel off into the woods. Schoonover grunted and hissed through his teeth, hands to his bleeding leg. The leaves crunched underfoot as they stepped off the old road.

Courtney walked after them as Shayne dragged the old man through the underbrush like he was nothing but a heap of rubbish. “Shayne!”

Her cries fell on deaf ears as she continued to fight for any semblance of hope for his peaceful future.

In the dim moonlight, she could make out the visage of a small cabin a short walk away. It was where Schoonover had meant to take her to dispose of her.

The exertion of dragging the fully grown man along the bumpy earthen ground took its toll on Shayne. He all but tossed the colonel down against one tree as he staggered back to take a breath. He had a hand to the side of his vest where a stitch had likely opened up. Courtney could see the pain on his face as he rolled his ankle to get the circulation going.

Courtney threw her last gambit into the field, even if it was a blatant lie.

“Shayne if you kill him, we are done!”

His trigger finger tapped against the side of his jeans as he avoided her weighty gaze. His breathing was heavy, and she could see the sweat trickling down his neck in the moonlight. The white skull on his vest reflected the dim light, making him look like the angel of death she wished he didn’t need to be.

His mouth opened for a moment, before Schoonover started chuckling at their exchange. Shayne drove his hardy boot into the colonel’s ribs, knocking him onto his side. He let out a low groan, which Shayne ignored. He glanced once in Courtney’s direction before bending back down to take a firm hold of the colonel. Shayne continued putting space between himself and Courtney, dragging Schoonover towards the shed.

“Shayne, please – we can still expose him and his entire operation! The link to Reyes – everything! The documents in my car, we can use those,” Courtney continued to hope, even though the past two minutes were nothing but hopelessness, “We can find more evidence in his house, we can do this right!”

Shayne kicked the door open, slamming it against one wall. He hurled the colonel into the small wooden cabin then turned back to face her. His face was a twisted mixture of anger and sorrow. With a heavy shrug of his shoulders, he answered her.

“I have to do this my way, Court.”

“Shayne.”

“I’m already a dead man. Write about that. Not about the Blacksmith,” Shayne’s throat bobbed with a visible gulp, “Please.”

They watched each other in a sad, hopeless standoff, neither wishing to give way.

There were a thousand different ways Courtney could see Shayne’s luck running out. A well-placed gunshot, a critical stabbing, or a debilitating blow to the face – it didn’t matter. All it would take was one bad day, and Shayne would be gone for good, for real this time. It was him against the world, and the last time he’d tried his hand at that, he wound up captured by the Irish, and then the police.

But Courtney couldn’t stop him. She knew the only thing stopping him in this very moment was his respect for her. His need for her _okay_ to turn and walk out.

Maybe his vengeful crusade was what he needed. He was the toughest son of a bitch Courtney ever met.

He couldn’t punch or shoot his way out of an explosion, but he survived anyway.

If anyone could finish this mission in one piece, it would be Shayne.

So, she’d publish his memorial piece. Even if there was the bigger truth of Schoonover’s identity to be dragged into the public’s eye.

That wasn’t what Shayne needed. What Shayne needed was for his fight to stay in the dark. Maybe that way he’d come back into the light of his own accord. If he lived long enough.

If she could use Smosh to increase the likelihood of his survival, then she’d do it. Courtney would write the damn profile.

“Okay.” Courtney finally conceded.

“Thank you.”

With a final longing look, Shayne closed the shed’s door, leaving Courtney painfully alone in the dark woods.

* * *

Shayne flicked the switch on, flooding the cabin with the flickering fluorescent light. It was more of a utility shed than a cabin. An assortment of tools, manual or otherwise, mounted the walls. Schoonover had taken to leaning against the messy workbench as he pressed a hand to his bleeding leg. Shayne took in their surroundings as he listened to the sound of leaves crunching under Courtney’s shoes. The steady paces grew distant as she returned to the truck.

“It’s like a candy store in here,” Schoonover chuckled. “Go ahead, take your pick.”

Utility rope. Hand drills. Saws. Axes. Crowbars. Steel cables. Hammers. Trash bags. Gasoline cans. He could kill Schoonover a hundred different ways in here.

Shayne reeled in the murderous urge in his twitching hands. He reached for the weapon at his waist. Fingers brushed up against Gosnell’s sheathed KA-BAR by his belt, before he found the pistol. Shayne retrieved the holstered gun he took from the dead men. The safety was flipped off and he performed a press check on the chamber. Satisfied with its condition, he pointed it at his former commanding officer.

“You should’ve stayed dead, Shayne.” The Blacksmith grumbled, “Would’ve been easier for all of us.”

Shayne swallowed down the seething, burning betrayal that threatened to spill out of his throat as bile.

He’d been gulping that sickly feeling down all evening once he connected the dots. Shayne spent half a minute ramming his fist into the steering wheel when he arrived at Schoonover’s house to find they’d already left. Once he avoided throwing up from the anxiety, he got his shit together. The memory of the utility shed came back to the forefront of his mind, and he hit the road with the sole purpose of saving Courtney. She’d practically saved herself. She was out of harm’s way now.

She would stay safe and far away from him where she didn’t have to get hurt.

“You could’ve been part of it like Gosnell,” Schoonover mumbled, “Could’ve been rich, son.”

“Don’t you call me that,” Shayne growled.

The colonel laughed, “Maybe you could’ve taken your family to the Bahamas instead of Central Park, huh?”

Red overpowered Shayne’s vision as he lunged at the Blacksmith. The knuckles on his left hand split open as they crashed into the older man’s face in several staggering blows.

Shayne’s breathing was heavy and ragged by the time he stepped back, leaning against the wall and bringing the gun back up on target. The colonel spat on the ground and brought his bloody face up to look at Shayne with defeat in his eyes. The expression only made Shayne all the angrier as the betrayal dug into his very bones.

“Lizzy, she – she used to call you gramps,” The sorrow mixed with the rage in Shayne’s trembling voice, “We just happened to be in the park that day you skipped your goddamn drug meet? You think I believe that’s a coincidence?”

The Blacksmith’s hands released his bleeding leg to wipe his face as he answered, “You were always the smart one, Shayne. Not like Billy.”

“Don’t you fucking say his name,” Shayne snarled, no care for the spittle that flew from his mouth as he yelled, “You don’t deserve to say his name!”

The colonel’s scoff turned into a pained cough. He shifted on the wooden floor, like he was trying to alleviate the pain in his midsection. After a moment, he let out a heavy sigh.

“You knew something was up. Back in Kandahar. Last few months before your discharge.” Schoonover shook his head, “You never said anything.”

“I was tired. I was done,” Shayne grunted. Those final months of his service – dark, heavy, and deadly – they were burned into his mind. He’d been having nightmares of the raids they were conducting before he returned stateside. It was different from what they’d been doing years prior. The hits were secretive, black ops type of shit. It was a far cry from the reconnaissance, overwatch, and large-scale assaults they were used to. Shayne had wanted nothing to do with any of it. “I wanted to get home.”

The colonel hummed in answer. “All those high value targets we captured, assassinated – you really think those were the enemy? You think it’s guns they were smuggling?”

Shayne gulped as more and more of the pieces came together, “Those were your goddamn competitors, weren’t they? What – did you take their drugs? Was your fucking heroin empire gonna grow with them out of the picture?”

“Something like that.”

Shayne had to consciously stop gritting his teeth to ask, “So why the park? Huh? I didn’t say a goddamn thing.”

Schoonover’s steely eyes lost their bite. They fixed onto Shayne’s boots as he gave a remorseful sigh, “We thought you did.”

The gun in his hands quaked at the pathetic answer, “My family died for something that – something you _thought_ I did?”

The colonel’s eyes flit around in an uncharacteristically troubled manner. His mouth opened for a moment like he was muttering something to himself. Finally, he explained, “Right after one of our hits, when Billy had to stop you from beating me into the dirt…”

Shayne remembered the incident. They tracked down a supposed notorious arms dealer somewhere up the mountains. They came in hard, killing everyone in that damn cave and capturing the target. They were ordered to setup perimeter security while Schoonover interrogated their prisoner. It got ugly fast. They lost a few men in the counterattack while Schoonover busied himself torturing the poor son of a bitch. Shayne nearly came to blows with the colonel because of the casualties.

“There was an unauthorized data movement back on base. A video sent to an IP stateside.” The colonel’s eyes briefly flicked to meet Shayne’s as he said, “I tracked it back to you.”

Shayne lowered the gun to pace the small shed. He ran a hand through his hair as the rage boiled within. “You thought I leaked a goddamn torture video?” Shayne snarled, “Is that it?”

“We knew of Ms. Reyes’ mole in the Dogs of Hell,” Schoonover continued, “We made sure he got wind of the drug meet.”

The genuine remorse in the colonel’s eyes only fueled the betrayal and the anger that seized Shayne’s chest.

“I didn’t show up to the meet. I knew the gangs would be on edge and start shooting.” Schoonover held Shayne’s gaze as he admitted, “I knew your routine in Central Park whenever you got home from deployment. I knew you’d be right there in the middle of it all. I figured if there were enough dead bodies, nobody would suspect a thing.”

Shayne scoffed, “Then Reyes realized she fucked up by not intervening, so she started covering it up.”

“Hm,” The colonel hummed, “I was counting on her men opening fire too, to add to the body count. When they didn’t, she played right into it. Covered up and did the job for me without even knowing it.”

“Who leaked the video then? Hm?” Shayne took a step closer, training the gun on the Blacksmith’s face, “Who got my family killed?”

Schoonover let out a labored sigh, “There was no leak.”

Shayne’s boot smashed into the workbench’s leg, snapping it in half. The colonel flinched as the table he leaned against buckled and collapsed on one side. The tools cluttering the surface crashed onto the ground with loud clangs, sending dust up into the air.

Shayne’s teeth were ready to grind into dust with how hard he clenched his jaw. He took a breath and stepped back to lean once more on the wall across Schoonover, gun at the ready.

“By the time we figured it out, it was already too late.” Schoonover paused once to wince and let out a quiet exhale. There was a growing pool of blood under his leg as he tried to staunch the flow. “You were in the hospital with a DNR.” The colonel licked his dry lips and took a visible gulp, “Nicole and Lizzy were gone.”

His finger twitched at the nerve of the traitor to say their names. “How’d you figure it out then?” Shayne asked, if only to suppress for a second longer the urge to shoot him.

“My men looked into it. Tried to find out who else had seen the leak.” The colonel shook his head, “It was Billy. He used your secure line to send a girlfriend a… video.”

Billy the beaut being a goddamn horndog. It was ridiculous. Billy had been asking to use his data allowance, since each service member only had so many megabytes they’re allowed to send and receive while deployed. And the little shit didn’t even get to come home to his girlfriend. He died on that damn mountain during that fucking _reconnaissance_ mission that was probably another heroin-seizure hit for Schoonover.

He could never blame Billy for being Billy. The beaut’s role in his family’s loss was purely indirect. If he knew of the risk the colonel posed, he would have never snatched Shayne’s line. This was all on Schoonover. Bill was a brother until the end.

What people never included in Shayne’s Navy Cross citation was that Billy pushed him out of the way of the mortar blast that took his life. Shayne had fought to get Billy a posthumous medal for that, but there weren’t enough people to corroborate what had happened. Only Shayne knew the man saved his life. Only he knew of the ultimate sacrifice Billy made. Shayne got to go home and see his family one last time. Billy never even got to say goodbye to his girl.

The realization of the dirty work they did during their last few months in Kandahar brought more horrific clarity to mind. All the heroin Schoonover undoubtedly seized behind their backs had to get stateside somehow. Gosnell’s threats of cuts and Y incisions suddenly made sense.

“You put goddamn drugs in our dead men,” Shayne’s eyes widened. The bile was rising back into his throat and threatening to spill out.

The colonel didn’t look him in the eye.

The silence was damning.

“Did you do that to Billy too?” Shayne demanded with the trembling gun pointed at Schoonover. His skin prickled as the rage spilled out of his chest and all over his entire being. Shayne wouldn’t be able to reel it in this time. He was certain of it.

“Yes.”

His best friend’s goddamn body was desecrated. His family was murdered in the attempt to kill him for a leak that never happened. All to protect the goddamn traitorous drug kingpin that was right under their noses the whole fucking time.

“Just do it, Shayne,” Schoonover sighed, “You’ve killed more than half my best men – the whole operation’s already falling apart. Just do it.”

The colonel must have had a death wish, because he goaded him on, “They call you The Punisher,” He let out a low laugh, “C’mon, prove it.”

The pistol’s hammer was already cocked back. The safety was off. The gun was loaded and ready to fire.

“Show me…” Schoonover mumbled as his pale head drooped for a moment. It jerked back up shortly after, reeling back from unconsciousness as the blood loss was taking its toll, “Show me you don’t need me anymore.”

Shayne’s face twisted in confusion at his choice of words. Rather than dwell on it, he gripped the pistol now with both hands and took aim.

“You remember Basic?” Schoonover leaned back against the collapsed workbench. Shayne watched as a visible dampness formed in the colonel’s grey eyes, “I had to teach you how to hold a gun, you remember?”

Shayne grit his teeth. The memories sprung to the surface as he fought back the heat gathering in his own eyes.

“Eighteen, and you’d never held a piece before”

Shayne could smell the dew on the grass of the shooting range back at Basic. The early morning sun beat down on them, and a cool breeze carried stray dust through the air from the end of the range. Schoonover’s stable hand was on his shoulder, correcting his form. His voice, steady, constant, trustworthy – was instructing him how to take aim. The sharp pop of rifles from his left and right were drowned out as he tuned in to his commanding officer’s guiding voice.

“One shot, one kill.” Shayne echoed the mantra that had been drilled into his skull through the years.

Schoonover gave him a delirious smile through the blood loss. “I taught you that – remember?”

He remembered.

Shayne fired a single round into the colonel’s head.

He waited for the satisfaction – the relief of putting down the man responsible for it all.

It never came.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading this chapter! I don't have a whole lot to say in the notes today, other than that I hope you enjoyed the climax to this arc in the story. The ride isn't over yet, and with Shayne free, things are going to keep getting interesting. The next chapter's undergoing revisions since I'm a little uncertain of its quality and readability so far. It'll be a long one, and I can't wait to share it with everyone once it's ready. I hope you all have a great day.
> 
> PS - Anon updated their fanart, and it's looking kickass! Our favorite trio has been added and they're as sharp as ever. Check it out! imgur . com/a/3PR42Vs


	22. Penny and Dime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shayne hunts. Courtney adjusts to a life with Shayne out of sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of graphic violence in this one, unsurprisingly. Be warned.
> 
> This is a long one, but with lots of section breaks. I felt like splitting the chapter up wouldn't do well for the pacing since there's passage of time in between each break. Feel free to put the chapter down and pick it back up if you can't digest it all in one sitting since it's a long one. Enjoy.

Shayne’s hand clasped over the guard’s mouth as the knife ripped his neck open ear to ear. A firm tug back to the shadows and an unceremonious thud concealed the body. The documents in Schoonover’s home were enough for him to plan and mount his attack in a matter of hours. The isolated shipyard at the edge of town was silent at this dead hour in the middle of the night. Several of the Blacksmith’s men stood guard, blissfully unaware of their impending doom as their numbers were cut down, one by one.

As the last body fell to Shayne’s new KA-BAR, the next stage of his plan kicked into action. A single ship was docked in the yard – his next target now that the perimeter was secure. Shayne boarded the vessel and swept through it with a decisive and deadly efficiency. Heads were blasted open. Necks were slit. Chests were perforated with hails of bullets. By the time the ship had been emptied of life, the white skull on Shayne’s vest was painted a gruesome red.

The heroin was loaded up here by the ton. According to his findings in Schoonover’s home, this was their latest incoming shipment. Once the bodies of the fallen Marines arrived stateside, the Blacksmith’s inside man would retrieve the drugs and send them over to this port.

The supply they had coursing through the streets of New York City was running dry, and this was their restock. The Blacksmith dealt through the three gangs – Dogs, Irish, Cartel – while he handled the supply. Apparently, he’d patched things up after he failed to show at the sting. His supply was too good for the gangs to pass up. This boat was their last bastion. With its destruction, the flow of the Blacksmith’s drugs into the port would stop. The pipeline would be severed, and all that remained would be the cleanup operation.

The planning went on in his head as he prepared for the ambush. Schoonover’s home was a goldmine. A safe with a few million in drug money was recovered and stashed in the black van Shayne was claiming as his own. It didn’t take Shayne many attempts to guess the colonel’s late wife’s birthdate as the combination. At the moment, he wasn’t sure what he’d do with the money, but he figured it would come in handy some time down the line.

Aside from the monetary loot, there were also explosives and weaponry he discovered and promptly stowed in his van. Schoonover’s body was stowed in the back of his pickup, concealed with a heavy tarp. The truck was parked by the shipyard’s entrance and rigged with explosives. A thorough analysis of Schoonover’s multiple burner phones from his office revealed who his lieutenants were in the operation. Judging by the codenames they used, Shayne could guess that a few were from the unit that Gosnell served in. The rest were unknown to him, but that didn’t matter. They were dead men too.

Multiple texts here and there signaled the remaining command structure to immediately make their way to the shipyard. _Shayne Topp had just taken out Gosnell’s team and he needed to be put down now_. The idiots bought it and arrived together in under an hour. Shayne watched from the roof of a warehouse a short distance away. He observed them through his rifle’s scope as they dismounted from their vans. The lieutenants brought muscle with them, which was a plus for what was about to happen.

They appeared to grow uneasy once they found the colonel’s pickup with the kingpin nowhere in sight. Some boarded the ship to investigate while the rest stayed out in the open. It was almost on cue when they discovered the bodies on deck and Schoonover in his trunk.

The flip of a switch detonated the explosives all around. A massive fireball rocked the ship, engulfing it with flames and sending it to a watery grave. The pickup truck exploded with the inordinate amount of C4 Shayne had stuck to it. Anyone nearby was obliterated by the blast, and anyone farther off was put down by the wave of shrapnel. The suppressed rifle in his hands kicked back against his shoulder as he mopped up the survivors. They scrambled for cover but dropped like flies as their unseen assailant eliminated them with precision and prejudice.

* * *

“Spill it.”

Courtney sat on one side of the faux-leather booth in a diner far too reminiscent of the one she’d been in just last night. Across from her was the full force of Leak and Grossman. The trio leaned on the table in almost perfect synchronicity. The only odd one out was Noah – since his arm was wrapped up in a sling.

They’d asked her out to lunch. Not an interrogation. But Courtney had an inkling that they’d get on her case soon, just not this soon. Not before twenty-four hours had even passed.

“Shayne’s alive, isn’t he?” Noah narrowed his eyes at her. It wasn’t a threatening gesture, but Noah and the team certainly weren’t refraining from using cross examination tactics.

Courtney’s eyes darted away to look at her cup of coffee as she swirled her little teaspoon through the creamy brown liquid. When Olivia called the first time last night, Courtney had made her decision to keep Shayne’s survival a secret. It was different then – the guy was in her backseat for Christ’s sake. Now, he was gone to the wind.

“You’ve been in contact with him, haven’t you?” It was Olivia’s turn now to lean in, arms crossed on the table and highly suspicious.

They were not only her own lawyers, but also her trusted friends. When Schoonover snatched her phone and ended the call, she’d unwittingly put Olivia and the two into radio silence. Once Shayne shut the cabin door and left her alone in the woods, she was able to call Olivia to tell her she was safe. There were a lame couple of excuses she made and how she’d slipped out of the interview. Olivia could smell something was up, so here they were now.

It was an eventful night after their call ended. Many things had prodded at Olivia and the team’s suspicions. The discovery of the bug in Keith’s briefcase. The explosion in the docks. The heroin traces recovered from the ship. Schoonover’s home burning down in the dead hours of the morning. And of course, the colonel himself anonymously reported missing. Having personally known all parties involved, it was easy for them to connect the dots. Courtney’s shitty excuses meant Shayne was involved. The chaos that followed meant he was able to deduce Schoonover was The Blacksmith, and promptly began dismantling his organization. Courtney realized she was a fool for thinking this could be swept under the rug and hidden from the legal team.

“Not exactly _in contact_ ,” Courtney made a face as she shrugged, “More like bumped into each other.”

“C’mon, Court,” Keith sighed, “You, his closest confidante, just _bumped_ _into him_?”

“It’s true,” Courtney stopped stirring her coffee to cross her arms, “After the hit in Rikers, he tried pushing me away – stopping me from seeing him again. It was out of this stupid notion of keeping me safe. He did it again after the explosion.”

The lawyers exchanged looks and relented a fraction. Olivia prompted her, “Did you know he survived?”

“No,” Courtney gave a firm shake of her head, “I only had a feeling he did, because the colonel was convinced that he did.”

“And he was convinced because it was his men hunting Shayne down,” Noah said.

“How’d you bump into him?” Keith hummed in question.

“Tepper’s address,” Courtney began. The trio only heard of the late Medical Examiner’s demise earlier in the morning when it was reported on the news. “I was there to ask some questions; so was Shayne. By the time we got there it was too late. The colonel’s men killed him and escaped.”

“Wait – that was last night,” Olivia raised a hand to pause her, “That was before you met the colonel. You were with him when I called, weren’t you?”

Courtney avoided Olivia’s disappointed gaze as she admitted her guilt, “Yeah. He was in my car.”

She continued on before they had the chance to tell her how much of a bad idea it was to harbor a fugitive presumed dead. “Look – I know – maybe it wasn’t the smartest decision. Liv,” Courtney turned her regretful eyes to Olivia, “I’m sorry I lied. I was just – just trying to protect Shayne.” 

Courtney could picture his smile in the backseat. His loving coos towards Max. The fond chuckle he’d periodically send her way as they spoke. It was so painfully domestic.

“I saw he was alive and free and I – I just wanted that for him,” Courtney gulped as the frown set in her brow. “I wanted him to take his presumed death and use that as his chance.”

“Chance to start over?” Noah’s soft voice gently prompted her as the emotions began to spring back up.

“Yeah, I wanted-” Courtney scoffed at herself. A brief flare of hot anger rose up to her chest at her own choice of words.

_I wanted_.

It was selfish of her to try and impose onto Shayne what she thought was best for him. Even if maybe it _was_ best and would keep him alive. It wasn’t her place.

“I told him he could lay low, use the explosion to disappear. I write the article about the Blacksmith’s operations, you guys help Tower prosecute him, but he – he just,” Courtney let out a sharp sigh. Shayne’s dark, sad eyes were burned into her memory. “Shayne didn’t want that. He didn’t want our help. Said he had to do things his way. He told me to write the memorial article.”

Keith connected the dots, and muttered, “So that people think he’s dead while he’s out on the hunt.”

“After Shayne made it abundantly clear he didn’t want me writing about the Blacksmith, we split,” Courtney sighed, “He went after some of his men, I went to the colonel’s house for the interview.”

“And then I called about the briefcase,” Olivia glanced once at Keith, whose face scrunched up with displeasure. Schoonover had a month’s worth of eavesdropping through the bug in that briefcase. It was sickening.

“After you called and the realization hit,” The stiff feeling of the pistol’s muzzle against her back was fresh in her mind, “The colonel took me at gunpoint. He made me drive deeper down the woods.”

The three watched her with concern and worry on their faces.

“Must’ve been scary.” Olivia reached across the table to hold her hand in a show of support.

Courtney let out a rough exhale as she nodded. She didn’t like thinking about how it took far too long for her to knock the colonel off balance. Schoonover anticipated so many of her would-be attempts. From the moment the car keys were in her hands, and when she boarded the pickup, it was like the colonel could read her mind. It made sense someone so involved in the criminal underworld would have a sixth sense for a captive’s escape plans.

“How’d Shayne find you?” Keith asked.

“I’m not sure.” It was the truth, too. Courtney didn’t know if Shayne had some sort of sixth sense of his own for her safety, or if he knew of the cabin and just got lucky to intercept them. “He bought me the distraction I needed, and I pulled my own gun on the colonel.”

“Then, Shayne got out of his van and dragged the colonel off into the woods to this utility shed thing.” Courtney gulped back as she remembered the sadness in his eyes when he turned her help down once more. “I tried to get him to stop. Told him we’d use Smosh and the law to take Schoonover down.”

“He didn’t listen.” Noah stated rather than asked. They knew him well enough by now to know where this was going.

“Shayne… already made up his mind.” Courtney explained, “Told me to stay far away from the Blacksmith’s story. He wanted me to write the profile like Ian and Anthony asked me to.”

Olivia spoke with a squeeze of her hand, “We didn’t mean to be hard on you, Court. Did he give you like,” She shrugged and fixed Courtney with a sad smile, “Any indication he’d reach out to you again?”

It made Courtney all the sadder to answer, “No.”

Silence settled over their small group as the waitress arrived to serve their meals. Courtney dug in since she only had so much time until she was expected back in the office. She was done running around doing interviews for a good while. The comfort of her little desk was a welcome change for the time being. Keith and Noah didn’t appear as enthusiastic about their meals. They poked and prodded at their food for a while, as if they were deep in thought.

Finally, Olivia addressed the thick air, “Okay, what are you two thinking?”

Keith answered almost immediately, “Where to go from here.”

“Yeah,” Noah agreed and set his utensils down, “The fact that Shayne _isn’t_ dead changes things. His criminal liability isn’t extinguished if he’s alive.”

Olivia heaved an uncertain shrug as she asked, “So, what now – are we supposed to tell the cops? Tower? The judge?”

“No,” Courtney leaned in with a frown, “We can’t do that – not after he’s finally free.”

Keith and Noah exchanged looks and leaned back into the seat in almost perfect unison. Olivia looked back and forth between them and Courtney, appearing quite on the fence.

“It’s what we _should_ do. But…” Noah trailed off.

“What if,” Keith gestured, “This conversation never happened.”

“What do you mean?” Courtney asked.

“I mean,” Keith looked at his partner before saying, “You never told us you saw Shayne. _You_ never saw Shayne or met up with Schoonover. You,” Keith looked at Olivia, “Never called her up about the bug.”

Noah was silent for a beat before adding, “There’s no evidence, no calls, no nothing that ties us to Shayne post-explosion. If he somehow is publicly outed as alive, prosecutors are gonna have a hell of a time if they try to prove we knew about it.”

“The Blacksmith investigation ended with the precinct shooting,” Keith continued, eyes fixed on Courtney, “After the close call, you decided to drop it because Shayne’s gone, and it’s too dangerous.”

“We stay clear of the sights of the gangs and whoever’s left in the Blacksmith’s crew,” Olivia slowly nodded her head along, “Tower handles Reyes’ prosecution if she wakes up. Court writes Shayne’s profile.”

A part of her still felt off about the whole idea. When she put her career in front of the camera on hold, she took to the journalism because she wanted to find the truth. She wanted to bring the truth to light. It was a way to fight the bad people in the world without guns and bullets. The past few months, the truth of what happened to Shayne was all she cared about. Exposing it was all she wanted.

But now when the man himself wanted her to keep the truth under wraps, it made her uneasy. She didn’t like it, but she _also_ liked Shayne being alive and free, even if he was throwing himself into harm’s way. His freedom was important to her, exceedingly so.

It was the quiet realization that truly set the decision firmly into Courtney’s mind. She cared more about Shayne’s wellbeing and his freedom than she did about letting the world know who the Blacksmith was. She’d let the truth stay buried, just this once. She’d do it if it meant Shayne got his second chance at life.

Courtney nodded, “I’ll write it.”

* * *

The name _Shayne Topp_ has been on everyone’s lips these past few days.

He’s been discussed over the hubbub and chatter at your local bar. Maybe used as a cautionary tale over a family dinner. Perhaps uttered with solemn voices at his memorial in Central Park. And it’s definitely been chattered between lawyers discussing the trial of the century’s abrupt end.

One way or another, all have heard of Shayne Topp, the Punisher.

I had the luck of becoming acquainted with Shayne Topp throughout the duration of his trial. I learned a lot from the man, about who he was and what he stood for. While I didn’t have the fortune to know who Shayne Topp was from before his family was taken away from him, I was able to speak to people who did.

The real Shayne Topp was almost another person entirely.

He played the guitar. Though he was so bad that his would-be-wife agreed to go on a date if he would _stop_ playing.

He had a sweet tooth. But he was ridiculously picky and would only settle for the Macrogurt brand of yogurt.

He did impressions. Sometimes celebrities, but the men that served with him particularly enjoyed his act of their commanding officer.

He dreamed of being a comedian. Though his humor was often questionable, and I still wonder where on earth he got his early ideas.

He spread the gift of song to his men. Though this was typically him calling, “Are you ready, kids?”, as his platoon would eagerly answer, “Aye, aye, Staff Sarn’t!” Apparently Spongebob Squarepants was a favorite of Elizabeth Topp’s.

He took his coffee with cream and sugar. He once laughed in my face, because I’d thought he was too no-nonsense for anything but black coffee.

He loved dogs. Before that fateful day in Central Park, his family was planning on adopting from a shelter. Even after his life was turned on its head, Shayne Topp cared for animals. When he dismantled a dog fighting ring, he temporarily adopted a wounded Pitbull and nursed him back to health.

He was very well read. Literature, both classic and contemporary filled his bookshelves. I once called him a nerd for it, and all he said was “Thanks.”

He was fiercely protective of his men. The complete disregard he had for his own safety was directly proportional to the care he had for those around him. The police officers who survived the attack on the 15th precinct in Hell’s Kitchen can attest to this. Shayne Topp was a leader when he needed to be. When that wasn’t enough, he defended the station by himself to keep the others out of harm’s way.

Until the end, Shayne Topp only cared about the wellbeing of others. He traded his safety for that of a captured officer. It was his final sacrifice before he was ingulfed in the fiery explosion blocks down the road.

Shayne Topp was an intelligent, kind, funny, creative man who had a bright future ahead of him alongside his family.

Abhorrent men took that away from him when they murdered his family. They retreated to the shadows to hide like the vile cockroaches they were. We at Smosh, and the legal team of Leak and Grossman sought to bring justice to Shayne Topp and his family.

Those same evil men took away any chance for that when they attacked the 15th. At the height of the trial of the century, when the defense all but had their win in the bag, it came to an unexpected end. Shayne Topp would have had another shot at a life, albeit after serving his sentence. It was his chance to live again. To make people laugh again. To read again. To eat his Macrogurt again. To care for a poor pup again. To look after his friends again. To love again.

Shayne Topp can’t do that anymore. He’s gone.

Those of us who were blessed enough to know the real Shayne Topp will only have our memories. I hope those that didn’t have that chance will read this and remember him not as The Punisher, but as a man. A man who laughed with his friends, bled for his country, and loved his family.

We will never forget you, Shayne Topp. You will always be our favorite pizza place.

* * *

The empty casket was fully lowered into the soft ground unearthed below. The priest’s words were falling on Courtney’s deaf ears as the funeral was nearing its end. She tugged the dark coat tightly around her figure as the mid-autumn’s bitter cold made itself known.

Keith and Noah sat to her left, wearing matching black suits. The only thing that set the duo apart was the white and blue sling that Noah’s arm was wrapped up in. To her right was Olivia in a black dress, legs crossed, and her face a stiff emotionless mask. By her feet was Max, obediently sitting and waiting.

Further along their row were a small handful of Marines that had served alongside Shayne, wearing their pressed and neat dress blues. Behind them, Matt (with a large cast around his hand) and several officers from the 15th sat in solemn silence. Outside the confines of the cemetery was a small crowd, waiting to gain entry into the area and pay their respects once the ceremony was over.

The funeral was a private event with a short guest list, limited to the few people who knew Shayne, and their guests. The fanfare beyond the cemetery’s walls were an assortment of people from all walks of life. Whether they actually wanted to spend a solemn minute or two by his grave or were just here for the clout was anyone’s guess. They could do their business once the official ceremony was over.

As Shayne’s attorneys, Leak and Grossman arranged the funeral and just about everything else. Too many bodies from the explosion were burned and damaged beyond recognition – including their teeth. Half of the dead couldn’t be identified by their dental records, so Shayne was officially presumed dead. The lawyers explained that due to the _imminent peril_ resulting from the explosion, the usual time that had to elapse before the presumption of death was shortened.

Leak and Grossman had to make the funeral authentic, so they reached out to other men from Shayne’s unit. Few were able to make it since most of them were from far out of the state. Their faces were stoic masks that betrayed no emotion, save for the occasional loose tear that would run down their faces. Courtney heard the frustrated, hushed chatter between the couple of Marines that it was a disgrace Shayne wasn’t being given a proper military funeral. Leak and Grossman applied for one, but the Marine Corps declined it due to the capital crimes that Shayne was on trial for.

Courtney couldn’t help but feel it was all pointless with Shayne alive and out there. But of course, everyone here didn’t know that. Having some acting experience under her belt, Courtney did her best to appear rocked by his death. It was difficult, but made easier by her anxiety that Shayne could very well have bitten the bullet by now and she wouldn’t even know it. She used that to bring the loose couple of tears dripping down her cheeks. Olivia’s small hand was quick to pick up her own in a kind gesture of comfort. Courtney gave her an appreciative smile and sniffed back the tears. It was a convincing show they put on.

Just off to the side were Nicole and Lizzy’s graves. Courtney had been able to keep her emotions mostly in check, but seeing their headstones tugged at her heartstrings. Courtney learned of their funeral from small talk with the men from Shayne’s unit. One of them had been in attendance at the small ceremony. Apparently, it was held while Shayne was still in a coma after the shootout.

Courtney asked about Nicole’s parents and any family she might have had that should be here for Shayne. One of the Marines, a heavyset man nicknamed Gunny, filled her in. With sad eyes, Gunny told Courtney that they were all but denying any familial connection to Shayne ever since he started punishing.

Damien had been in contact with Courtney as well. He wanted to be there to keep up the image, but he was still out of town. Courtney figured he was away for real this time because he was laying low from the remaining members of the Blacksmith’s crew. If what Shayne had said about the attack on Damien’s home was anything to go by, the corpsman was probably better off a distance away. He could come back to the city when the last of Schoonover’s men were taken care of.

Damien had felt the betrayal as well, but nowhere nearly as deeply as Shayne had. He said he didn’t know the colonel as well. He kicked himself for not connecting the dots sooner after his call with the colonel and the attack on his home a day later. Courtney reminded him that the colonel had fooled them all. Damien wasn’t to blame for any of it.

Eventually, the priest called forth those gathered to come and help send the deceased back to the earth. Gunny and the other veterans stood up to approach the hole and the mound of dirt next to it. There were hushed words uttered between the Marines, but out of respect, Courtney avoided listening it. The Marines were all equally red in the face and sniffling back the tears as they reached for the loose earth. They sprinkled the soil down into the empty coffin and returned to their seats.

There was a moment of hesitation before Olivia tugged on her arm and motioned for her to get up. Together with Olivia, Keith, Noah, and Max, Courtney walked over to the open pit in the ground. They stood there for a beat, not quite sure how these things were supposed to really go. It was Keith and Noah who finally broke the heavy air with matching smiles.

In perfect unison, the two said, “Our kind of shitbag.”

They all laughed softly at the throwback to their first night all together, seemingly so long ago now. Keith tossed in a handful of dirt first, followed by Noah, who had to use his good arm. Olivia took a moment to bite her lip as the memories from a week or two prior appeared to come back to her.

With a fond smile, Olivia said, “Dude, I saved myself and these two because of you.” She let out a quiet chuckle, “Thanks for that.”

She watched Olivia drop her small handful of dirt onto the coffin below. Max was tentatively peering into the low pit, his tail batting slow, uncertain wags. Courtney didn’t know what to say. She simply echoed the sentiment Shayne often shared with her, even if he needed to hear it far more than she did. “Take care.”

* * *

All the way in Alabama, under the cover of darkness, Shayne’s black van crashed into the motorcycles in the middle of the dark country road. There were cries of pain that rang out before the unforgiving heft of the van finished them off.

“One Batch,” Shayne muttered. His left hand extended from the window, pointing the sawn-off shotgun at the next biker.

“Two Batch.” The man didn’t have time to turn before the buckshot tore into his back, and he crashed off of the bike.

Shayne pumped the weapon and pointed it at the last biker on the road.

“Penny and Dime.” The bark of his shotgun reverberated across the empty road, and the biker toppled over his bike and to his death.

Shayne stepped on the gas now that the patrol was taken care of. He’d chased the Dogs of Hell all over New York City for weeks. Clubhouses and hideouts went up in flames, and biker blood flowed freely. Shayne kept the violence contained on biker turf and off the streets themselves. No innocents were harmed.

On the contrary, some were saved. Shayne learned that these scumbags were trafficking women. Those they didn’t ship out of state were kept and forced to work as prostitutes. Shayne spared no bullets for these shitbags.

This last clubhouse was his final hit. The ultimate bastion of safety for the Dogs. He had a high value target to rescue here as well, so to say.

Shayne parked off the side of the road and hoofed it the rest of the way. He’d cleared loads of fortified structures before. Granted, he always had his team with him when he did it. But that didn’t mean Shayne wasn’t prepared. The small arsenal he recovered from Schoonover’s home armed him with all the tools he needed to dominate the stronghold.

The bikers were _partying_. Apparently, when confronted with the primal fear of a nut with a gun hunting them down, their course of action was to get drunk. Loud rock music was blaring from within the sizeable structure. He’d scoped the place out before and was prepared to execute his plan.

Shayne’s suppressed rifle fired two short bursts, dropping the two bikers smoking by the garage entrance. The blaring music helped cover up the snap of his rifle. Shayne broke from the bushes and shrubbery, crossing the distance towards the garage. After confirming the interior was clear, he began dragging the two bodies inside. The packed garage was filled with two vans tagged with the Dogs’ icon. The bodies were rolled underneath and out of sight before Shayne rigged the explosives right under the engines.

Before long, he was back outside and climbing up the fire escape to the second floor of the clubhouse. The top floor consisted of a barracks-like bedroom and a small gym. Shayne was on the steel railing outside the bedrooms when he flipped the switch and got the party started.

The explosion rocked the building to its very foundations. His insides gave an unpleasant stir as the shockwave rippled through him. Shayne shrugged it off and got to work, smashing the window open and jumping through. The confused bikers waking up in their bunks were laid to rest with well-placed shots.

The sound of the garage’s structural collapse aided in covering up the sound of his gunfire as his rifle eventually clicked dry. Shayne pushed the rifle to the side, allowing the sling to carry it back. He drew the sawn-off shotgun and pressed on. He’d heard a crash from the gym in the parallel room, not unlike someone dropping a weight in surprise. Shayne took his guess and pulled the trigger.

The wooden wall splintered as the buckshot tore through it. A cry rang out, signaling a good hit. Shayne continued to pump more pellets into the wall, shredding it and creating a little window he could see through. With a peek, he confirmed his kills and moved on to strike while the bikers were confused.

His weapons were reloaded by the time he exited the bedroom and made his way down the stairs to the main bar area where the crowd was. On the ground floor, there was a grimy strip club on the far side, while the bar and kitchen took up the rest of the floor. The bikers were still reeling from the explosion by the time he kicked the door in.

Shayne drew a flashbang from his coat, yanking the pull ring out and tossing it into the bar. The deafening bang reverberated throughout the room, prompting Shayne to enter. The bloodied white skull on Shayne’s chest escalated the collective panic in the room.

Shayne pushed on, firing at his stunned and confused targets as they drunkenly reached for their weapons. Bodies hit the floor one after the other, only pausing when Shayne had to transition to his shotgun. The split-second break in the gunfire allowed them a scant moment to react. Shayne ducked out of the line of fire like it was second nature. He took cover by the bar as glass shattered overhead and beer spilled down to the ground.

He peeked from cover by the side of the bar, blasting someone’s leg apart with a shotgun. Shayne leaned back in as the place his head had been was peppered with a spray of gunfire. He then popped up the top of the counter to fire the shotgun once more, taking them off guard.

They exchanged fire for barely a minute before the bikers ran out of ammo and charged at him in a frenzied attempt to defend themselves. Shayne’s pistol was emptied into the first few men that approached him, before he had to rely on his knife.

Guts were stabbed. Necks were slit. Hearts were pierced. Shayne was drenched in blood by the time his work was finished. A cursory look at the leather vests of the fallen bikers confirmed the president was still alive. With a slight limp and a black eye, Shayne approached the strip club.

The sensual music in the venue was still blasting through the speakers when Shayne made his appearance. The sound was only interrupted by the harsh ringing of a wired telephone on the wall. Neon blue and pink lights brightened the room. A steel pole occupied the central area and the platform attached to it. Leather couches crowded the stage for optimal viewing. There were two figures by the couches in this room – two figures left in the entire building.

The first was a bald older man, wearing the Dogs of Hell’s leather vest. The patch on his chest read _President_.

The second was a familiar woman, stripped down to her underwear.

“Topp,” The final Dog of Hell cowered from where he hid. He had one hand on a pistol. The other was on the woman. He was half a second away from using the woman as a human shield. “We don’t gotta-”

One shot, one kill. Schoonover’s mantra had lethal application.

The bullet splintered the president’s skull before he could put the woman in harm’s way. She let out a scream as the spray of blood covered her face and neck. The woman fell off the sofa and crawled backwards away from Shayne, not daring to turn her back to him.

The phone continued to ring in the background as Shayne’s steely eyes locked with the woman’s. She was quick to regain her grit. With a scowl on her face, she asked, “You gonna finish the job? I thought you were supposed to be dead.” Shayne’s jaw ticked watching Mike’s wife glower at him as the phone continued to sound off without a care in the world.

After blowing up the ship and the Blacksmith’s heroin, Shayne had to mop up the remains. It took a couple of weeks to dismantle the last leg of the Blacksmith’s operation and eliminate the survivors. His pursuit of their smuggling operation ended in Quantico with a well-placed shot from a kilometer away. The dirty Marine responsible for unpacking the heroin in the bodies returned from overseas was taken care of.

Once that was out of the way, Shayne returned to New York to target the bikers first. Apart from the Irish, the Dogs were the easiest to deal with since they were heavily based in New York, save for their fledgling and now defunct chapter in Alabama. His first few attacks on the bikers involved interrogations here and there. He learned Mike was a sergeant-at-arms – a high level enforcer within the club. He was essentially the president’s left hand, if the vice president was the right.

Usually with these bikers, a member’s wife – his _old lady_ – is treated with the utmost respect by the rest of the members. Shitbag criminal bikers were different. When Mike was put away, his old lady, Rebecca, was offered protection by the club. It didn’t last long after Mike died by Shayne’s hand. He learned that she’d been forcefully taken in by the club’s president. Her son was sent off to an aunt out of state. The biker pricks managed to convince social services that Rebecca had been abusing him.

Shayne felt a sense of responsibility to make sure Mike’s wife got out in one piece, freed from the clutches of the Dogs. Shayne wouldn’t admit how often he had nightmares of Mike snapping Courtney’s neck in two. Courtney was alive thanks to him. He very well could’ve killed her right then and there, but he didn’t. Shayne felt it was only just that he did right by Mike. Even if he was six feet under.

“Get out of here.” Shayne gave a half-shrug. He stepped to the side, so she had a clear path to the door. His movements only stopped when he noticed the coat hanging from a hook by the door. Shayne snatched it and tossed it in her direction.

Rebecca watched it land on the couch with a soft thud. “That’s it – you’re just letting me go?”

“Would appreciate it if you kept this between you and me.” Shayne offered an uncertain smile.

She didn’t take her eyes off him – as if it would be unsafe to do so – while she pulled the brown coat over her shoulders. It wasn’t much, but it was better than facing the chilly evening as is.

“C’mon,” Shayne nodded his head towards the door and took another pace away to get clear. Rebecca watched him with weary eyes and pushed off the ground and onto unsteady feet.

Shayne knew an apology would be useless – hollow even, if he gave one. Saying he was sorry would be a lie. He wasn’t sorry that he and Courtney did what they had to do to survive. He could empathize, and that was that. Loss was hard. Shayne wasn’t oblivious to the pain he caused the widow but mumbling out a sorry wouldn’t help. God knows he would’ve shot Schoonover in the face sooner if he dared to grumble an apology out.

Instead, Shayne told her, “Find your boy. Start over.” With a glance at the last Dog of Hell, he added, “Far away from these assholes.”

Rebecca kicked off the ridiculous heels she’d been forced to wear, opting to go barefoot. She took cautious steps around the leather sofas and towards the door. Over the ringing of the phone, Shayne added, “There’s a gas station a half hour’s walk from here.” His bloody hands were wiped off against his vest before reaching into his pocket. He drew a loose couple of hundred-dollar bills and extended them for her to take.

“I’ve got a van outside if you want a ride – but,” Shayne shrugged, leaving it unsaid that he understood she probably never wanted to see him again.

There was a moment Rebecca took to eye the dollars and his bruised and split knuckles. After overcoming the hesitation, she accepted the bills with begrudging hands then gave a firm shake of her head, “I’ll walk.” She appeared to consider her words for a moment then added, “I won’t tell anyone you were here, but Topp?”

Shayne narrowed his eyes and asked, “Yeah?”

“Fuck you.”

He probably deserved that.

Rebecca pocketed the bills into the coat and continued on towards the door, leaving him alone with the smooth music and the ringing phone. Shayne frowned at the wall-mounted phone and its persistent noise.

He had to get a move on before the police arrived. Their response time wouldn’t be the best because of how isolated this place was, but it was still a risk to be considered. Curiosity quickly got the better of him, and he walked over to the phone and picked it free from the receiver. Shayne raised it up to his ear and waited.

“Hey there, Mr. Topp.”

Shayne’s frown deepened as he muttered in disbelief, “August Marks,” He let out a chuckle, more out of confusion than anything else. “What the hell?”

Being contacted by August Marks from Rikers wasn’t surprising in and of itself. He was king of contraband. It was only natural that the guy had a burner to call him with. What _was_ concerning was the fact that August knew to reach him here and now.

“It’s good to hear from you too, Mr. Topp. Ya been keepin’ busy?”

Shayne looked at the dead club president not five feet away and answered, “Something like that. How’d you find me?”

“Smile for the camera, Mr. Topp.”

Shayne registered the nearby CCTV camera nestled up in the corner of the room. Pointedly facing away from it, Shayne asked, “You’ve been watching me?”

“Nah, but some of my boys on the outside have. They heard someone was wipin’ the bikers out, so they figured you might still be alive and kickin’. They knew if that was the case, this would be your last stop. Don’t worry about the cam, my boys are gonna clean up the footage. Just wanted a word with ya.”

Accepting gifts in prison was one thing, because they would always inevitably be used against you. Shayne wasn’t sure if the same applied to this favor, considering he was far out of August’s reach. August was a smart man, too. He knew that crossing Shayne would end in his organization’s swift demise, one way or another.

The king of contraband must have sensed his unease, because he went on to explain, “We took care of some unfinished business on our end, Mr. Topp.”

Rough stubble, straight posture, and a devilish grin came to mind. Bell’s sacrifice was one Shayne would never forget.

Shayne’s free hand subconsciously balled into a fist as the memories came flooding back. All those walks together to visitation and consultation. All the dumb jokes and teasing Bell subjected him to. All the times he was a grump to the older Marine who never meant any harm. Schoonover’s attack on his prison transport cut off his plans for revenge on the two COs and the warden. It was about time this was settled once and for all. Shayne scowled as he asked, “You got Lee and Johnson?”

“Mhm,” August hummed, “That leaves one last shitbag on your plate, Mr. Topp.”

“Where can I find Gates?” The latent anger was reignited, audibly visible in Shayne’s voice.

“You gonna settle the score?” August asked. Shayne could picture that cocky, satisfied smile on his face.

“He’s already a dead man, August.”

* * *

Courtney loosely followed Shayne’s handiwork. He was being comparatively more careful this time around. There weren’t any reports of unmasked gunmen shooting apart Metro-General, so it was a good sign. There _were_ a high number of bikers winding up in the morgue. The general public was under the assumption that this was more gangland violence. After all, the gangs were shooting each other up even before Shayne began his revenge the first time.

If Matt suspected Shayne’s survival, he didn’t mention it. He was stuck on desk duty because of his hand – though this did mean he had more time to speculate and connect dots. He might paint a picture leading to the deduction Shayne was alive and punishing. Courtney would have to lie her way out of that if it came to it, but all was quiet for now.

Courtney kept busy with work as the weeks rolled by and the temperature continued to drop. A temporary reassignment within Smosh was a welcome change for her. Courtney had seen and written about enough bloody crime scenes for a long while. For now, she was content to take a break from all the action to write for their entertainment arm. The skits and satire planning and writing kept her wits sharp and her mind busy. She couldn’t worry herself over Shayne’s safety if she was busy.

The other reason she accepted Ian and Anthony’s offer for a temporary reassignment was she was getting swamped with inquiries. With the trial over, Courtney signed her last article off as herself. There was no point holding onto the Karen Page moniker any longer.

While the general public mostly didn’t care about that change, other journalists did. Since she wrote of knowing Shayne personally, many were able to connect the dots to the last article. Pretty soon, everyone knew of her pseudonym, but that was of little consequence. The only issue was people asking for interviews, which she politely and consistently had to decline. Max was a welcome companion whenever she was approached. While he didn’t make for much of a guard dog, his cuteness was distracting, and made it easier for Courtney to deflect questions.

The other journalists also may have had their suspicions of Shayne’s survival, thanks to the growing pile of dead bikers. Thankfully, these weren’t being shared or published on any major outlets. Anyone that tried would likely become a laughingstock, since Shayne’s presumed death was already being widely reported as indisputable fact. For the time being, they didn’t have to worry about that.

Courtney met up with Keith and Noah from time to time. Olivia was taking a break from her work as a paralegal to tend to her final term in Columbia Law School. She was even busier than the two actual lawyers these days. The trial was a major milestone in their career, even if it hadn’t reached a definitive end. Clients from all over New York were coming in to seek their assistance and guidance. All the new business they were getting was able to cover the expenses they shouldered for Shayne’s case. They were even able to hire another assistant while Olivia was busy. Leak and Grossman would soon be Leak, Grossman, and Sui, after all. The trio would need their own paralegal once they were all partners.

Noah was doing better. His arm was making its way to a full recovery. Courtney had to berate him on more than one occasion for skipping physical therapy. Noah would always cite how busy they’d gotten as an excuse. She was just glad that Keith was on her side when it came to Noah’s health, and always badgered him to take the afternoon off to go to the doctor. Noah, being the workaholic he was, usually refused because he didn’t want to leave Keith alone with their heavy workload. The new assistant was good, but she was nowhere on Olivia’s level.

Courtney laughed when they confided in her that Olivia had some kind of secret touch that she worked the coffee maker with. Not only did they miss her steady presence, her sharp mind, and her supportive assistance, they _really_ missed the coffee that only she could make palatable. But they were all so happy for her to be wrapping up her degree. From the times they’d heard from her, they learned she was the big girl on campus. Everyone wanted a word with her after she’d sat at the frontlines with the almost-victors of _The People v Shayne Topp_.

Reyes was brought into conversation once in a while, too. She hadn’t woken up from her coma, and there was still no telling if she would. In the back of her mind, Courtney grimly wondered if Shayne would creep into her hospital room one night to finish the job.

They didn’t talk about Shayne those times they met, opting instead to discuss work and life in general. The agreement they made weeks ago in that diner was still being upheld. That didn’t stop Courtney from _seeing_ Shayne everywhere.

Every time some blonde haired, blue eyed, broad shouldered man walked by, Courtney had to do a double take. Every time someone ordered a cappuccino or had any sort of milk and sugar in their drink, Courtney would dumbly crane her head towards the front of the line, just in case. Whenever she’d be greeted with a polite _ma’am_ , Courtney had to make sure the speaker wasn’t Shayne in disguise. In the parks, when she took Max for a walk, he’d occasionally tug on his leash, straining to go and befriend some stranger. Courtney had to make the conscious effort not to look at every hooded and cap-wearing man in search of him.

Courtney considered taking down Shayne’s family photo from her shelf, because it was getting difficult seeing him in everything. Ultimately, she didn’t. Shayne liked the framed picture where it was – safe, but not out of sight.

She just wished she could have him here in the same way. Safe, but not out of sight.

* * *

Warden Jake Gates was a man of routine. Many shitbags in high places of power usually were. Gates lived alone, divorced twice, and was estranged from his exes and the few children he had. Early in the morning, he departed for work. Like the shitbag he was, he left his car in a handicap parking slot in front of a local coffee shop. He grabbed a morning coffee and a sandwich – egg salad, to be exact.

Gates went to Rikers afterwards, where he’d attend to the day’s work. During lunch, he would go out with a few coworkers, usually the higher-ranking correctional officers. They had a taste for artery-clogging fast food. In the afternoon, Gates got back to work, usually staying until the early evening for a few hours of overtime.

Most nights, Gates went straight home from work. He’d heat up a microwave dinner, crack open a beer, and spend the night in solitude. On Fridays, Gates liked to treat himself. There was this Greek hole in the wall eatery he frequented. He’d order the doner kebabs, with an extra side of hummus and whole wheat pita bread. If he was feeling spicy, he treated himself to a seven-layer dip served with freshly baked chips. Gates topped it off with a mango lassi – a yogurt-based ice blended drink. Afterwards, he’d return to his car.

Shayne lunged at Gates from the backseat, wrapping the sturdy piano wire around his neck. Gates let out a choking sound, his hands flailing in the air in alarm. Shayne’s knees pressed back against the driver’s seat as he leaned far back. One of the warden’s hands came up to his throat in a feeble attempt at prying the wire off. It was cutting into his skin now and drawing blood. His other hand went back in a desperate attempt at clawing his attacker’s face, far out of reach.

Gates’ bloodshot eyes went to the rearview mirror, where he finally saw who was in the midst of taking his life. Dark eyes, a tight scowl, and a haunting white skull greeted him. The raw terror and panic set in. His feet wildly pushed back on the car floor, trying to do something – anything to alleviate the pressure around his neck. Shayne grit his teeth as he remained resolute, his hands locked in place as Gates suffocated.

It wasn’t long before his thrashing hands went limp, uselessly dropping down to the side. Shayne kept the piano wire firmly in place for a minute longer. He wasn’t taking any chances.

When he finally unraveled the bloody garrote, Gates was no more. Shayne tucked the murder weapon into his coat for later disposal. He casually exited the backseat of the vehicle, the bruised features on his face obscured by his hood.

Shayne disappeared into the night, no more fulfilled than he was five minutes earlier. There was no pleasure to be derived from taking the warden’s life. There was no satisfaction to it. Shayne hadn’t expected otherwise.

It simply needed to be done.

* * *

Smosh wasn’t enough to keep Courtney’s mind busy anymore. Taking a break from investigative journalism often meant less take-home work. She was busy when writing and later watching the skits and sketches unfold at Smosh’s studio, but that ended when she left the premises. At home, Courtney was still painfully alone and struggling to not spend so much time worrying and not being able to do a damn thing about it.

Courtney signed up for first aid lessons. With how much of a shit-magnet she was, she knew it would be an invaluable skill someday. The course was more comprehensive than she expected, which was a good thing. She attended the classes thrice a week after work, and it made for a great and useful distraction.

It started out with an almost classroom-like setup, and Courtney just about had war flashbacks to her days in school long ago. They learned the basics – that you should call 911 before anything else, the basic principles of keeping the person alive, not aggravating the injuries, and actually trying to fix the injuries. There was talk of the common things to stock your first aid kit with, and Courtney took close notes of that. She’d swing by a pharmacy the next time she was out doing errands.

When Courtney first joined, she thought it was all CPR and stitching up wounds like in the movies. It turned out there was a lot more to it than that. Courtney learned of breathing problems and how to help someone use their inhaler in the event they’d be unable to themselves. Allergic reactions were another lesson, and Courtney was surprised by how simple it was to prime and use an EpiPen.

Heart attack care, fainting, low blood sugar, strokes, seizures all kept Courtney busy for the coming weeks. It was an influx of knowledge that took a while to nail down, but she was getting the hang of it. When discussing shock due to blood loss, red emergency lights and Shayne’s pale skin flickered into her vision. Courtney had to take a moment to drink down a mouthful of water and pace herself through a few deep breaths. Wherever he was, Courtney hoped he was treating his body right as he undoubtedly used it to deadly effect.

The traumatic injuries classes were when it got interesting. This was the type of stuff Courtney felt like she’d need when she went back into her investigative writing and inevitably pissed off the wrong criminal.

Controlling blood loss was the first topic discussed. It was a no-brainer, and more like the movies than she thought. Application of pressure had to be done, prioritizing the worst of the bleeding. Courtney remembered Matt’s mangled thumb when they went on to tourniquets.

The detective was still on desk duty for the most part, but was cleared to inspect crime scenes, provided he didn’t exert himself. That giant cast around his hand was still in place, and he often complained about how it got in the way of things. Showering with a bag around it was a pain in the ass as well, and he couldn’t wait to be free of it. All the grievances aside, his doctors said recovery was going well. They were sure his thumb wouldn’t be winning any beauty competitions when they cracked the cast open, but it _would_ be functional.

When they started to discuss head trauma, Courtney found herself idly hoping Shayne wasn’t experiencing much of that these days. But who was she kidding? With how reckless he was, he was probably dodging concussion after concussion day to day.

* * *

Shayne’s head collided with the wall, and it was through sheer willpower that his lights weren’t knocked out on impact. Shayne saw little white specks in his vision that were probably not a good sign. The nausea rising up as bile in his throat was similarly not at all a good sign. He grit his teeth as he ducked low to dodge the Irishman’s fist. His legs propelled him forward, grabbing the man by the knees and taking him down to the ground.

The Kitchen Irish were his next target after the bikers and Gates. They heard of what he’d done to the Dogs of Hell, so they were far more prepared than their begrudging allies. None of them wanted to believe The Punisher was back from the dead and finishing what he started. Unluckily for Shayne, the Irish prepared for the worst anyway. They were packing Kevlar wherever they went. Whether to meetings in their hideouts or even just a trip to the store – they weren’t taking any chances.

The Irish made their money through a variety of ways. Robbery, extortion, kidnapping, carjacking, and drugs. Over the course of a month, Shayne hit each of their sources of income with extreme prejudice. Chop shops, where they dismantled and sold stolen cars, were blown sky high. Extorted businesses were saved, and their tormenters put down. Kidnapped people – mostly women and children – were rescued, and their captors executed. Gun stashes all across town used by the Irish were raided, and Shayne added their stocks to the growing collection in his van, which he mostly lived out of.

The drug trafficking arm of the Irish had already taken a hit with the Blacksmith’s demise. They were now relying on the Cartel to get their product. Shayne would deal with them next, but for now, he was mopping up the last of the Irish shitbags.

As he systematically destroyed their operation through weeks of hunting and sabotaging, the Irish started getting desperate. There was a price on his head, and each fight was a grueling one. Shayne had several new scars that he ended up needing to suture himself. His chest was a black and blue tapestry of the bullets his vest had stopped. But as each encounter took its toll, every Irish hitman that tried their luck wound up dead in a ditch.

The Kitchen Irish were named as such because their base of operations started in Hell’s Kitchen and spread out from there. After all the work Shayne put into throwing a wrench into their operations, the last of the mobsters retreated to a chalet all the way in Vermont.

It was a charming estate, already prepared for the holidays now that Christmas was weeks away. The wooden floors and walls, and its high rafters in the ceiling made for a very idyllic vacation home. Now that the snow had already began to fall in this part of the country, it made for a picturesque winter getaway. It’d make a good postcard.

A few well-placed explosives and a blindingly fast assault made short work of most of the Irish, including the don. Shayne’s decisive attack led him to the bar on the second floor. It was an open area with a grand skylight above, and well carved furniture that was thoroughly ruined by the gunfire. The blood and the bodies were also a negative point to the chalet’s aesthetic.

The final Irishman in the room, and the whole building, was the don’s right-hand man. He was a slugger. The Irish loved their fisticuffs, and this guy was no exception.

Shayne’s fist was cocked back to strike the man as he clambered up into a full mount. The well-built mobster met him with a jab to the chin, snapping Shayne’s sore head back. His left was quickly followed by a right hook that turned the tables. Shayne landed to the side with a thud as the last Irishman transitioned into a mount of his own.

Shayne did his best to block and crane his head away from the Irishman’s relentless blows. Shayne’s lip had a gruesome split. One of his eyes had swollen shut. His nose was dripping blood at an alarming rate. Shayne never was a ground fighter.

Lying on his back like an overturned turtle was only reminding Shayne of all the damage he’d sustained. The stitches along his arms and side from the last knife fight gone wrong were beginning to peel open. His back, which was bruised a sickly shade of blue from the bullets stopped by his vest, cried out in agony. His leg ached with a sharp throb as the sutured-up bullet hole there was beginning to open up as well.

His eyes searched around for anything in the environment he could use to his advantage. Unfortunately, luck wasn’t on his side tonight. His KA-BAR was sticking out of a mobster’s throat halfway across the room, surrounded by a small pile of other bodies. His rifle was discarded at some point when he had to shift into the close quarter fighting. His pistol was in need of a reload, lying a good distance away.

As the Irishman’s fists continued to crash against his face or his blocking arms, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of déjà vu. Shayne thought far back, long before Mike pummeled him into the ground, and even before his life was torn asunder.

Shayne thought of the days he rolled with Billy. Shayne was always the sturdy, heavily built one between the two of them. Billy was strong, but he was quick and agile. Whenever they did ground fighting drills in the Corps, Shayne was the typical jarhead, using his strength to his advantage.

Against Billy, strength didn’t work. Whenever Shayne got into a full mount, Bill pulled whatever tricks he had out of his ass, and next thing Shayne knew, he was on his side and his shoulder was nearly popped out of its socket. The guy always told him to not be such a meathead when it came to fighting on the ground. Standing up, he could slug and swing as much as he wanted, even do a good handful of sweeps and throws. But when it came to the ground, Shayne was admittedly lacking in finesse.

The Irishman mounting him was the same class of meathead Shayne was. He had to pull a trick from Billy’s book to get out of it.

Shayne bucked his hips up, knocking a knee to the man’s back. It put the Irishman off balance. His arms went forward to catch himself before he faceplanted. Shayne’s hand shot up, locking the Irishman’s elbow and tugging it close to his chest. Relying on both leverage and strength, Shayne rolled to the side, pushing the Irishman over. He ended in a crouch, pressing his knee to the man’s ribs while his arm was still firmly locked into place.

With a vicious tug and a loud pop, the Irishman howled in pain. His dislocated shoulder created a disconcerting grinding sound as Shayne reopened his split knuckles against the Irishman’s face. It was his turn to have his head rocked against the ground in jarring strikes. Once he could no longer put up a fight, Shayne grabbed hold of his head and prepared to finish him.

The Irishman let out a plea, “Stop! You’ve won!” He let out a hiss through his teeth, “You’ve killed everyone.”

“Almost everyone.” Shayne growled back.

“Topp – please. I’ve got a family.”

Shayne’s eye twitched once. “I don’t.”

The defeated Irishman let out a sigh, “For God’s sake, lad. Killing me won’t bring them back. What does it change if I’m dead, huh?”

“Nothing.”

Shayne’s hands jerked back with a sharp twist. The crack of the Irishman’s neck was the last sound in the now empty chalet, save for Shayne’s heavy breathing.

To his surprise, the heavy silence didn’t last long.

A door nudged open, and Shayne was up on his feet and charging within moments.

“Wait, no – wait! Stop, I’m not with them!” The bespectacled man opened the door fully and raised his hands up in a gesture of peace. Shayne had to skid to a stop to avoid crashing into the man. He placed a hand on the wall next to the door to catch himself before the momentum knocked them down.

Shayne gulped for air as he studied the decidedly not Irish man before him.

“Who the fuck are you?”

“I’m uh – you can call me Lieberman.” The guy had wildly unkempt curly hair, and a beard that would suit a man marooned on an island. There were visible marks on his wrist indicative of what were once either handcuffs or cable ties digging into his flesh.

“What are you doing here, Lieberman? They kidnap you?” Shayne asked between pants of breath.

Lieberman gave an uncomfortable shrug and hesitantly explained, “I forge documents. Paperwork. IDs. That sort of stuff.” He gulped as Shayne’s suspicious eyes tightened into a glare, “They didn’t like my going rate, so they forced me to do work for them here.”

Before Shayne could speak, he blurted out, “You’re Shayne Topp, right?” He looked once at the skull on his bulletproof vest, “You’re the Punisher.”

There was a flex of Shayne’s shaking fingers as he glowered at Lieberman. “If you like breathing, you better keep that to yourself.”

He nodded his head with enthusiasm and fear alike, “You’ve got it. Never saw you.” Lieberman looked at the carnage around them and added, “Thanks.”

Shayne followed Lieberman’s eyes towards the mess of fallen Irishmen around him. Judging by the marks on Lieberman’s wrists, he probably put whatever escape plan he had into action when he heard the shooting start. Good for Lieberman that he came out the victor and not the Irish. Small fish like this guy that did dirty paperwork weren’t worth a bullet. Shayne could scare him straight.

His hand came up to shove Lieberman. He stumbled through the doorway and into the study he’d just escaped from. The lanky man let out a startled yelp, raising his hands up in surrender. Shayne grabbed the front of his shirt and tugged him close, “You’re done working with shitbags like these, got it?”

“Y-yeah, man,” Lieberman stammered, “For sure – I swear – I’m never making fake documents again.”

There was the briefest pause that Shayne took. He wasn’t sure what exactly caused it. Whether it was the fear in Lieberman’s eyes, or his shaky voice swearing off of forgery. Maybe it was the study that they stood in, which was uncannily similar to Schoonover’s.

Maybe it was because he blinked once and could see himself sitting behind that ornate desk, reading a textbook and working towards the college degree he never got to earn. Maybe it was because in his mind, he could see blonde hair, green eyes, and the bright smile he’d locked away and forced himself not to think of. Horrific nightmares be damned, he was done using her to bring himself peace in the uneasy nights he endured.

Yet he thought of her now anyway. The thought of her wandered back into his chaotic mind and brought with it that brief tranquility.

Shayne let Lieberman go as the thoughts spurred him on to ask, “Before you stop this shit for good, can you do one last job for me?”

Lieberman blinked once or twice before nodding, “What do you have in mind?”

* * *

The holidays were fast approaching. Courtney’s flight tickets were already booked for later in the week. She was eager to see her family again. It’d been a while since the clan was all complete, and only God knew how many stories she had to share with them. The two months she knew Shayne moved by inexplicably fast. Now that he was out of the picture, the months were rolling by unbearably slowly. Courtney missed him so much that it hurt.

After learning how to deal with varying bone and joint injuries, Courtney went back home. Once she parked her car in its usual spot, she undid Max’s harness from the seat and led him out. Courtney walked him over to the coffee shop nearby to get herself a drink and a small bite to eat. Max had already eaten back in first aid class, so she only needed to take care of herself.

Walking the streets of Hell’s Kitchen at night hardly bothered her anymore. As always, she saw the shadows and the darkness that lurked around every sinister alley, but the fear was gone. She had Max by her side, a goddamn gun in her bag, and was done taking people’s shit after everything she’d been through. She’d be fine.

Courtney got herself a spiced hot chocolate, since it fit the season. If she ordered coffee, she wouldn’t be getting any sleep. Not like she slept well anyway, thanks to her nightmares. After finishing up the toasted panini, Courtney left with the warm, festive drink in hand. She began the short walk back to her apartment building before pausing halfway through. A sidewalk vendor caught Courtney’s attention, and this time, she lacked the willpower to resist.

Max curiously sniffed at the stand as Courtney bought two oversized Punisher shirts. She made herself scarce before anyone could witness her buying Shayne’s damned merch.

The moment her front door was locked behind her, she shrugged her coat off, hanging it on the wall. Max was freed from his leash. He recovered a stray tennis ball and bounded over to his spot on the sofa. Her purse found its spot on the dining table next to her hot chocolate. Courtney got comfortable and pulled her sneakers off. Her jeans hit the floor and she tugged her shirt up and over her head. The clasp of her bra came undone before she slipped the Punisher shirt on.

The damn thing was as comfortable as it looked. The black shirt reached down to her mid-thigh, making it the perfect length for wearing at home. It was of a decent thickness and surprisingly breathable material. Perfect for the early winter frost, and probably not too bad once it started getting warm again either. Whoever was behind this Punisher merchandise line knew what they were doing.

After tossing her used clothes into the bathroom, Courtney went about her evening. She spent the first few minutes stripping and maintaining her trusty .380. Courtney was in no rush, so she took her time meticulously cleaning the various parts. She took care with the oiling, sure to avoid overdoing the lubrication. Once Courtney was satisfied with her work, she reassembled the weapon and returned it to her purse. The comforting smell of gun oil lingered in the air as she went to get cleaned up.

The TV was on to offer her a distraction. She avoided the news, since she didn’t want to dwell on the growing body count of Irish mobsters and Mexican cartel enforcers. The increasing number of deaths was a sign that Shayne was alive, and Courtney left it at that. She didn’t want to hear of how the enforcers perished, because then she’d start thinking of all the ways Shayne could’ve gotten hurt. It had been months since they’d last seen each other now. There was no telling in what shape he was in and how many more scars he had amassed.

She settled instead on some nature documentary as she curled up on the sofa and sipped from her to-go cup of hot chocolate. Max’s contented head rested on her lap; the light sound of snoring rumbled from the overgrown pup. Courtney occasionally scrolled through her feed using her cracked phone. Her attention was split between the hubbub of social media and the narrator’s relaxing voice on the TV.

When she’d avoided sleep for long enough, Courtney retired to her bedroom with Max at the foot of her bed. The soft black shirt enveloping her figure brought a sense of comfort as she tried to rest up. Her mind wandered, as it was wont to do at this hour. Wearing Shayne’s damn merch, it was difficult not thinking of his solid presence by her side.

She tried not to imagine the sink and give of her bed as he lied down next to her. She tried not to imagine his steady breathing in the darkness of her bedroom. She tried not to imagine his order to _behave_ whispered into her ear. She tried not to imagine the feeling of his hands purposefully and sensually exploring her skin.

Courtney groaned into her pillow in the effort to suppress her hormones.

* * *

Shayne’s black van got a lot of mileage chasing the Cartel around. After getting back to New York from Vermont, it didn’t take him long to hit the road again. The attack on the 15th precinct and its successful defense dealt a major blow to their operations and their strength. Within his first week back in town, Shayne eliminated the Cartel presence. They retreated southwest, to the other towns they had a presence in. Shayne fought them in Virginia, then in Louisiana, and then finally in Texas.

One – just one – lucky bastard slipped away. In the final shootout, the shitbag was able to retreat to his car and escape. It was a setback, but one that Shayne was prepared to deal with. He’d done his research and knew all he needed to know. It was late on Christmas Eve when Shayne’s target came into sight.

The Cartel enforcer had just crossed the border from El Paso into Juarez – from America into Mexico. There was a small club named Eclipse that the enforcer liked to frequent. Even shitbags needed vacations home to see their family, apparently. This enforcer was being picked up by a couple of cousins.

The beat-up vehicle continued along the road until finally coming to a stop by the front of Eclipse. The Cartel enforcer stepped out of the vehicle. His hands were pumped into the air as a show of victory. His relatives cheered and hollered along with him. Words were exchanged – likely declaring a need to celebrate his escape from the Punisher. He was a clear and visible target, with civilians far enough to the side to avoid collateral damage. Shayne had already set up for him.

There were a lot of things Shayne had to take into account.

There were precisely 2,403 meters between him and the enforcer. He’d twisted the elevation knob on his rifle accordingly.

“One Batch.”

The slow flapping of the Mexican flag off the side of the club, along with the drifting of dust from the ground gave Shayne an idea of the wind’s direction and speed. Combining that with the spindrift of the bullet, Shayne pitched the rifle a smidge to the side.

“Two Batch.”

The target was south of Shayne, and a few degrees to the west. Taking into account the earth’s rotation, he had to aim the rifle slightly higher than he would’ve otherwise.

The heat, humidity, and barometric pressure all came into factor next. By the time Shayne had made the rough calculations in his mind, it was now or never.

“Penny and Dime.” With a slow exhale, Shayne squeezed the trigger of his sniper rifle. The weapon kicked back against his shoulder like a mule. Shayne watched from his perch on the rooftop all the way in El Paso.

A long seven seconds passed.

The Cartel enforcer appeared to bellow out a laugh and gestured vaguely towards the border. Shayne could make out the mocking curl of the man’s lip as he joked and bragged away.

Then he dropped to the ground with a splatter of crimson from his skull.

As the last man involved with his family’s death hit the ground, Shayne once again waited.

He waited for any sort of feeling of relief or satisfaction. Through the endless, echoing, aching loneliness in his chest, he waited.

It never came.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, thanks for reading 'til the end! I hope you enjoyed this chapter. This format of time passing and heavy exposition and narration might persist for another chapter or two. It's been rather difficult writing the succeeding chapters, so I'm taking longer churning these out. I won't bore you with the science behind my writing process, so I just want to thank you for bearing with me. I hope you liked this chapter tying up different loose ends.
> 
> I kind of want to talk a little about the final section, and how the hunt ends with a final shot after months of pursuit. It may seem a little underwhelming on its own - which is part of the point. There's no feeling of grandeur or anything. All Shayne feels is tired and how simply his mission ends reflects that. I hope that's communicated well enough. I didn't want to drag on the pursuit for too long, because to me, that's not what the story is about. More than anything, it's about the human aspect, like how Shayne deals with the loss and tragedy. That's why I'm both excited and anxious as hell over the succeeding chapters. The pace is going to slow back down as Shayne finds himself without a mission. Do stay tuned to see how that turns out. Have a great day now.


	23. Promise Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The holidays come and go for Shayne and Courtney, surrounded by either solitude or family.

Shayne’s eyes lazily blinked open. The soft mattress beneath him felt absolutely divine. He would’ve allowed himself to drift back to sleep if not for the morning sun peeking in through the curtains. The familiar sheets kept him warm through the bitter mid-winter chill. The bed gave a tentative creak he knew all too well.

Long, dark brown hair came into view, knotted in a few places – evidence of sleep that was perhaps a little too good. Nicole was radiant in the morning sun. She always was stunning, but that didn’t stop Shayne from grinning at her like an idiot. Slowly, she scooted over and propped her head up in her hand. Her other went over to run across the soft fabric of his shirt.

“Morning, sleepyhead.” Nicole smiled. “What’s the plan today?”

It made Shayne’s heart ache to see her like this. So whole and happy and peaceful and painfully real. Shayne knew his late wife wasn’t referring to any fantasy of taking her and Lizzy to the park or the mall. He could see the sharp attentiveness in her eyes. It was the same knowing and observant look Nicole had whenever they danced under that spotlight. It had been a while since he’d seen Nicole like this. The last time was when she verbally kicked his ass while he was passed out on Damien’s couch.

He answered her truthfully, because she deserved nothing less, “I don’t know.” Shayne gulped, “I have no idea.”

Nicole watched him for a moment, gazing into his very soul with those deep brown eyes of hers. Her hand ran along his chest, tracing along the scars she knew like the back of her hand. Shayne closed his eyes, centering himself on her soft, steady breaths. He focused on the sensation of her deliberate fingers gently dancing over his chest.

“It’s Christmas, dummy,” Nicole reminded him. She hummed in consideration, before adding, “What about Dames? I bet he and Alice would love to have you.”

Shayne’s eyes came back open to look at her hopeful expression. He shook his head. “I don’t wanna bug them. Don’t wanna get a target painted on them in case I missed anyone.”

Nicole gave him an incredulous look. With a scoff, she asked, “You really think you missed anyone?”

Before Shayne could brush the question off, Nicole tilted her head in the silent order not to bullshit her. Shayne admitted, “I don’t think so.”

Hearing him admit it, Nicole relented. Her thumb brushed up against his collarbone as she asked, “So, what’s stopping you from heading back to them?”

“Aside from the fact it’s a day and a half drive without the stops?”

Nicole gave his sass an unimpressed frown, prompting Shayne to shrug at her and admit, “It’s tough.”

She scooted closer then, draping an arm over his body to bring him some comfort. Shayne pressed a kiss to her hair. He savored her presence – her smell, her touch, her warmth, everything about her.

“Not ready?” Nicole asked.

It was an understatement. Today would be the first Christmas he spent not just without Nicole and Lizzy but completely alone. Before them, he had his parents, but they were gone now. Now he was alone. He was as lonely as Courtney knew he was.

Nicole must have been using her damned psychic intuition, because she pulled back to smile at him. “Bet you she’d welcome you in with open arms.”

Shayne frowned and quickly denied it, “No. You heard her. I killed Schoonover. I’m dead to her.”

She clicked her tongue in displeasure and ran her hand up to caress his face. Her thumb rubbed soothing lines against his cheek. “You know she didn’t mean that. She just didn’t want you continuing your war and getting yourself hurt.”

“Hm,” Shayne gave a halfhearted grunt, “Maybe.”

Nicole appeared to study him for a while before telling him, “Go home, babe.”

“Home – what home?” Shayne let out a humorless laugh, “Home’s gone.” He felt the lump beginning to form in his throat as he told her, “Home was gone the moment I lost you and Liz.”

“I know, baby,” She pressed a kiss to the corner of his lips, whispering against his skin, “I know.”

Nicole had a sixth sense for his emotions, whether in life or in death. Once she felt he’d suppressed the momentary flare in his sadness, she continued, “You gotta make a new home, babe.”

“How? After everything, I – how? How do I get back to that, babe?” Shayne fixed her with his sad, pleading eyes, “How do I go from blowing someone’s head off across the country to – to what? Lazy coffee and breakfast in the morning? A job? Adopting a dog? What – what does that look like?”

“Shh – babe, shh.” Nicole hushed into his ear, pressing more tender kisses to his skin, “I don’t know what it looks like. What I know is,” She leaned her forehead in to rest against his, “You need to find it. You need to find home; you need to find that _after_ Bell was talking about.”

The name startled a quiet laugh from Shayne. “What – you been talkin’ to old Bell?”

Nicole didn’t grace Shayne with an answer, choosing instead to give him that smirk of hers. She continued, “I know it’s rough. It’s gonna be tougher than anything you’ve ever done, but you gotta do it.”

Her hand slid over to his chest, over the steady beat of his heart. Shayne muttered, “I dunno if I can anymore.”

“She’ll help you.” Nicole’s fingers played with the fabric of his shirt.

“Nicki,” Shayne evened out his reproving tone with the old nickname.

Her face cracked into a wide smile in utter delight, “I haven’t heard that in a while.”

Shayne found her beaming face to be contagious. Even as he watched her beautiful smile, the melancholia seeped into his reply, “I didn’t think I _could_ say it again.”

Nicole’s lips slowly relaxed into a more reserved smile. Her thoughtful eyes peered into his own. “Promise me.”

Shayne’s brows furrowed in a slight frown, “Promise you what?”

“That you’ll find home, wherever it is. Your war is over, Shayne. I know you,” Nicole bit her lip for a beat, “You’re tired. You could chase down other criminals loosely connected to the gangs, but you don’t want that, do you?”

Nicole was right. Tired didn’t even begin to cut it. If his ribs were anymore bruised from his vest catching bullets, they’d probably snap in half. His knuckles were locked in a vicious cycle of splitting open and being dislocated every few nights; the swelling made it almost hard to shoot. His arms were covered in an array of fresh stitches from the last few knife fights gone wrong. The whole past couple of months had far too many close calls for his liking. He was getting tired and sloppy.

His back was killing him too, but that was from sleeping on the van’s cold, hard floor. Living out of the van’s trunk and subsisting on surplus MREs didn’t make for the best lifestyle.

“Go to her,” Nicole urged once more, “Go to Courtney.”

Shayne fixed her with his sad frown, “Babe, I can’t – you – she,” He licked his lips and looked away for a moment, “I can’t just… go to her.”

“Sure you can.”

He wanted to believe it was really that simple, but reality was never that easy. Shayne didn’t even know how Courtney would react to him after he shut that door on her. Another part of him wanted to just lie here in this damned dream for the rest of his life. But reality wasn’t that kind either. Nicole must have sensed his thoughts. She fixed her forlorn, caring brown eyes on him.

“I’m gone, Shayne. I can’t take care of you anymore.” She paused to bite her lip as the words dug into his very being, “I’m not asking you to let me go, but I know that heart of yours. You have a big, kind heart. I know there’s room in there for more than just me and Lizzy.”

Shayne watched Nicole through bleary eyes as she placed another gentle kiss to the side of his lips.

Nicole’s plea was whispered into his ear, “Promise me.”

He swallowed a heavy gulp in his throat. His mouth opened, but he lacked the words to answer her.

“Doesn’t matter if it’ll take you a week or a month – I just want you to _live_ again.”

Finally, Shayne answered her, “I promise.”

* * *

After Shayne woke up painfully alone in the back of his van on Christmas Day, he decided to get out there and do something. The first order of business was grabbing a late breakfast.

Up until today, he’d been hunting down the criminals like it was any other war. Everyday, he would get up early, fold his blanket, conduct reconnaissance, plan his attacks, then execute them. Nearly daily, he would shave his growing stubble. Nearly weekly, he trimmed his hair to keep it closely cropped and just barely past military standard. It appeared today would be his break in the routine, starting with how he slept in a little.

It was rare he slept this well – hell, it was the best sleep he’d gotten in months. Every night, his dreams were plagued by the futile efforts to save his family from a bullet-strewn demise. Their screams in his ears and their blood in his eyes would wake him into a frenzied panic once or twice in the night. He slept like garbage as a result and was twice as twitchy in his waking hours.

Today, he let the stubble prickle out freely. He let his hair go untouched, save for a few rough brushes with his fingers. He slipped the hooded coat on, which felt far roomier without the bulletproof vest underneath. Damien’s cap found its place on his head before he hopped out of the van. It was cold in El Paso this time of year. New York would be colder still, but Shayne tugged the coat tighter around himself anyway.

He walked for a few blocks, keeping his head down and trying to remain lowkey. The paranoia had settled into his bones long ago. It was difficult training it out of himself. At any given point, Shayne was hyperaware of his surroundings.

The two homeless men down the alley huddled together for warmth. The other man behind them who was shooting a needle up his arm. The tense posture of the couple in front of them, looking like they’d just been through an argument. The small bulge by the side of another man’s shirt, indicative of a concealed carry holster. The van that pulled up a few cars away, and the back opening to reveal a family and not a mounted machinegun. Everything was so damn normal, and Shayne wasn’t sure what he was expecting. His plate-carrier vest’s absence made him feel naked and exposed, and all the more paranoid.

Shayne kept the bill of his cap low as he reached a small diner. He’d warmed himself up enough on his long walk. The payphone up front caught his attention. Since he didn’t feel like sticking around El Paso for long, it was as good a place as any to tell Damien the deed was done. Telling Courtney could wait. He needed to gather the guts to speak to her again after he all but cut ties with her.

After only a minute and a half of hesitation, Shayne shoved a coin in and dialed away.

“Hello?”

Alice’s voice greeted him on the third ring. He blinked once or twice in surprise. Shayne realized he was an idiot for not considering that possibility when he rang up their home phone.

Shayne cleared his throat and went ahead anyway. She was as trustworthy as they came. “Hey.”

He listened to her gasp on the other end of the line. There was a sound she made, akin to his name, before she cut herself off. As if Damien had trained her on operational security over the radio, Alice asked, “Gerbil?”

“Yeah,” Shayne let out a quiet laugh in spite of himself. At this point in time, he wasn’t sure how necessary the secrecy was, but he appreciated it. “Yeah, it’s me.”

“Are… are you okay?”

His arms, chest, and leg were a mess of stitches. He had at least three bruised, and possibly one fractured rib. His back was killing him just standing straight. His stomach was growling now that it had gotten a whiff of the pancakes in the diner.

“Been better, but I can’t complain,” Shayne answered.

“Do you need to talk to him?” Alice referred to Damien discreetly. “Do you need help?”

The care and the touch of urgency in her voice tugged at Shayne’s heart. Not for the first time, he was indescribably grateful for her and Damien. Those two were as dependable and kind as they came.

“No,” Shayne said quietly, “No help needed. But is he there?”

“He’s out,” Alice answered, “One last session of group before they take a break ‘til after the New Year.”

Shayne smiled at that. Leave it to Damien to be looking out for his boys and girls, even during the holidays.

“Do you need his phone number? I could give it to you,” Alice offered.

“No need,” Shayne shook his head to himself. “But, uh – you could tell him something for me.”

“What’s that?”

“Tell him it’s finished.”

Alice was silent for a second before she cleared her throat, “Does this mean it’s all over?”

As vague as it was, the message was coming across. “It is.”

Shayne listened to the sigh of relief she breathed out. He could only imagine the nerves those two were suppressing. They’d been targeted once, and there was no telling if they’d be targeted again. He assumed they returned home once Damien deduced the Blacksmith was taken care of. But there was no doubt that if one of the gangs made the connection, they’d be right back in danger. Right until this moment, there was that lingering fear that someone might try and hurt them to draw Shayne out.

“I’m glad to hear that. Are you coming home?”

The word caused Shayne to uncomfortably shift the corded phone in his hands. His dream of Nicole sprang back up to the forefront of his mind.

“I – uh,” Shayne disguised his unease with a laugh and an attempt at a joke, “Not sure I’ll make it back to the city in time to open presents.”

He listened to the quiet sound of parting lips, like a wide grin, “Very funny. But I’m serious. Are you coming back?”

“Eventually,” Shayne had made a promise. He intended to keep it. “I just need to…” He shrugged as he leaned against the booth, “Get my head on straight, I guess.”

Alice’s hum sounded as though she was tempted to try and convince him to hurry up and come back. Eventually, she simply told him, “If you need anything, you tell us.”

“I will.”

* * *

Christmas Eve in Utah was as eventful as she’d expected. Courtney’s lips were loose from the free-flowing wine that her siblings had brought. It took a considerable amount of effort not to spill _all_ the beans about the past few months. Her siblings were all too eager to hear about the trial and the infamous Punisher. The hype around the trial of the century was strongest in New York, but it had spread throughout the rest of the country, albeit with less intensity.

It was bittersweet to talk about him. The alcohol made it easier to just recall the good parts. Courtney left out the rougher patches – the moments where her involvement wasn’t common knowledge. Mainly the hit in Rikers and the shootout at the precinct.

She started with Metro-General, and how he chased them around the building. Their jaws just about hit the floor when she told them she landed a shot on him.

“You _shot_ the Punisher?!” Kari, one of her older sisters, had exclaimed in disbelief.

Courtney could only give a sheepish grin, because she herself was still a little surprised the round connected with his vest. She quickly moved the story along to the stairwell, where Grotto had tripped her. She raised her cracked phone up as evidence of her tumble. Courtney told them of that fearful moment where she thought her life was over. She told them of how she nearly threw up with the relief of her life being spared.

It was easier talking about the hospital. After everything she’d been through with Shayne, it was easy to look back at it – to laugh it off even.

If the incident at the hospital had her family surprised, her stint of breaking and entering blew their minds. Courtney had to reassure them it was all perfectly safe. Next came the emotional recollection of the Topp residence. She still remembered every coaster, every photo, every toy, every pair of shoes, every single damn thing in Shayne’s home. It was all saved into her memory.

One of her younger brothers, Clarke, had teased her, saying that she talked about Shayne like he was dreamy.

He was, but Courtney did _not_ talk about him like he was dreamy.

No one could prove that.

Courtney hurriedly pushed the story along to convincing Leak and Grossman to take the case on, and their subsequent meeting. She lost herself to the story from there. Her siblings listened with great interest at all that had unfolded, up until she glossed over what happened at the 15th. She purposely left her involvement out.

A few stray tears found their way streaking down her face. Courtney quickly rubbed at her stinging eyes. Of course, they thought she wept because of Shayne’s supposed death. In reality, it was because she still had no idea where he was. Alcohol was a depressant, and its effect was making itself known. It compounded the latent feelings she’d been keeping in check for months.

Shayne was out there alone, with nobody to watch his back. He was fighting _the Mexican Cartel_. These were serious guys that shot up police precincts like it was just a Tuesday for them. These guys _beheaded_ people. And Shayne waged his war with reckless abandon. He could be dead in a ditch right now and she wouldn’t even know it.

Kami, her eldest sister, wrapped her up in a big hug. Courtney sniffled and reigned the emotions in as best as she could.

Max chose that moment to make his appearance. If people weren’t asking Courtney for more details on the trial and Shayne, they were all fawning over Max. He was a star here. The Pitbull was as much of a softie as ever and reveled in the attention. He’d run around their large backyard and play with all of her family. Now, he plopped his head down onto her lap and let out a low whine.

Kami pulled back to level Courtney with her concerned eyes. She gave a small smile. “At least he’s with his wife and daughter now, right?”

It only made the lump in her throat feel all the heavier. Shayne was either in a shallow, unmarked grave, or he was out there cracking someone’s skull.

* * *

Shayne had never seen the Northern Lights before. A cursory Google search on his newly purchased smartphone told him his closest bet would be Idaho, which was a long drive away. Knowing he wouldn’t reach it in time for a late Christmas celebration, Shayne set that as his goal for New Year’s Eve.

He planned his drive’s route with the physical map he’d been using. Map reading and navigation had never been Shayne’s specialty. He had men in his squad to do that for the team. But just the same, Shayne knew the importance of knowing how to read a map and use a compass as a guide. All the men in his platoon were mandated to learn how to do it in case they ever got separated. That included Shayne.

Today, Shayne cross referenced the folded map with the help of Google Maps. He idly took note of the numerous sights on the way to Priest Lake State Park in Idaho. There were notable spots here and there. Motels peppered the maps as well, not too far from the numerous sights.

If Shayne were being honest with himself, he still didn’t really know what he was doing with his freedom. A road trip didn’t sound bad for a soul-searching getaway. Shayne could start there.

It was late in the afternoon when he reached the Grand Canyon’s southern rim. It was… big.

Shayne stared down at the vast expanse of tan colored rock below the railing. In the distance, he could see mules carrying tourists around the ground. There were a few streams that contrasted the red and brown rock with a sparkling blue. The sheer size of the natural wonder was unfathomable. According to the nearby tour guide, some parts stretched as deeply down as one kilometer.

A peek over the railing confirmed it looked about that deep. He’d jumped out of planes a dozen or so times throughout his career in the Marines. Heights were never really a problem for him. That being said, there was something different about looking down the rocky canyon. Shayne could only imagine what it felt like rolling down the side of the sharp crevices. He’d hiked up and down his fair share of mountains in Afghanistan, and he always winced internally at the thought of his equipment failing mid-climb.

It was a picturesque view, so Shayne figured that normal people would take pictures. He hadn’t gone on a road trip or a tour like this in years and years. He fumbled for a moment with the new phone. It’d been long months since he last used a smartphone that wasn’t taken from a dead man and used to set a trap.

There weren’t a lot of people around touring the canyon since it was Christmas day. Not many in their right mind wanted to see this giant hole in the ground when they could be at home, warm, and with their families.

A fleeting thought came, of Courtney by his side as he looked out at the magnificent view before them. Knowing Courtney, she wouldn’t be content to just stare with her mouth agape. She’d definitely want pictures, maybe a couple of selfies. Shayne would bet she’d have a quip or a wisecrack or two about the simultaneously boring yet grand view.

After taking some pictures, admiring the sights, and feeling like an idiot tourist, Shayne figured he was done here. With how the path was designed, he was forced to pass through the gift shop on the way out. Shayne went to grab an overpriced bottle of water for the road while he was here. He paused in front of the glass display when a familiar packaging came into sight.

Macrogurt in the middle of goddamn nowhere in Arizona. Shayne grabbed several cups without second thought and brought them over to the counter. He could crack one open before he hit the road. Shayne wasn’t keen on staying in one of the motels in the nearby small towns. He planned on driving on to Phoenix where he could catch the paper luminarias in the Desert Botanical Garden before it closed.

As he kept his face low and obscured by the cap, he noticed a selection of postcards by the cash register. They were all so damned touristy he found himself cringing at the sight of them. Yet at the same time, there was an indescribable charm to them – in how unashamedly and unapologetically touristy they were. They looked like the kind of thing designed a decade or two ago without ever being changed.

When prompted with the question of if he was getting anything else, Shayne snatched the postcard and handed it over. After paying in cash and returning to his car, Shayne began to ponder over what he’d even write on the thing. He popped the lid off of a strawberry Macrogurt and let his mind wrangle the matter at hand.

It was no question he’d send it to Courtney, but what was he even going to say? What _could_ be said after that night in the woods? Shayne had seen her memorial article, and he was endlessly thankful that she pushed through with that. Lord knows he wouldn’t have been able to focus on his hunt if she put the Blacksmith on blast. The only issue he drew from the profile was the ending, when she inadvertently put his former budding comedy career on blast.

While having lunch earlier, he pulled up his old comedy gig on YouTube and found that it had gone viral thanks to her article. On the one hand, the world knew he was a total chucklefuck when he wasn’t brooding and punishing. On the other hand, according to the comments, people thought he was hilarious and not a total idiot.

Shayne shrugged to nobody in particular. Maybe being the chucklefuck and goof he was at heart was the key to reconnecting with Courtney. At least, in a way that wouldn’t piss her off.

He had his incredibly dumb message in mind and was penning it down before he could second guess himself.

* * *

The days leading up to New Year’s Eve were far calmer than the hustle and bustle of Christmas. After being pestered and questioned about the trial and the infamous Shayne Topp, Courtney’s siblings settled down. Except for Kami and Kari. Those two were so fascinated by the connection she formed with Shayne. They were sad to know he supposedly died after how close Courtney and he had gotten.

Courtney brushed it off as best as she could, not wishing to dwell on it. Yet whenever it came up, Courtney couldn’t resist checking the news. The last reported Cartel slaying was back before Christmas. Now it was the 31st, and she had no idea where Shayne was or what he was doing. Courtney imagined he was still out there conducting reconnaissance and planning his next big hit. Crime never slept and all that. Knowing Shayne, neither did he.

She’d done her fair share of worrying for him on Christmas, knowing it was his first time spending the holiday alone. Courtney hoped he at least took the night off. Gave himself the rest he so desperately deserved and needed. But he was a workaholic, even if work for him was vengeful murder.

The countdown celebrating the arrival of the New Year was a festive affair. Her family was up and about, preparing to loudly call the numbers out from ten. A few loose pops in the air were already going off early, filling the night sky with the bright and sparkly lights. Courtney had to take the time to acclimate to this. She’d heard the crack and snap of far too many gunshots the past few months. Hearing them again nearly made her dive for cover underneath her mother’s patio furniture.

Thankfully, she wasn’t alone in the sentiment. Max hid underneath her chair, letting out low whimpers as the resounding boom of fireworks filled the night air. Courtney reached down to scratch at Max’s head. Kari took that moment to ease down onto the seat next to her. She flashed Courtney a concerned smile.

“You doin’ okay?”

Courtney tried to put on a brave face, but the unease in her gut made it difficult. “Totally.”

Kari tilted her head and pulled her lips into a doubtful thin line. When Courtney tried to shrug it off, Kari took her hand. “C’mon. Countdown’s starting. Let’s join the fam.”

Normally they’d be recording all sorts of silly videos and goofing around at this time of night. Courtney wasn’t feeling it this year, especially with the unnerving bangs ringing out. The idea of standing in the open yard, far from cover, made Courtney’s alarm bells go off.

“You mind if we just hang here?” Courtney asked.

Courtney let her sister’s watchful eyes study her for a second. Eventually, Kari nodded and leaned back on the chair to get comfortable.

It was a luxury to be able to enjoy the holidays like this. Safe and sound at home, without a care in the world. As nervous as she felt, she knew all was well. Nobody wanted to hurt her or her family out here. She didn’t know if the same could be said for Shayne.

Courtney had stopped making wishes on the new year long ago. This year, she made an exception. She simply wished Shayne was safe, wherever he was.

* * *

Priest Lake State Park in Idaho was where Shayne spent his New Year’s Eve, far away from the unnerving pops and booms of the fireworks. He rented a cabin and picked a spot out by the lakeside. Shayne left his cap behind on his bedside table. Instead, he brought along his new less intimidating hooded coat along. There were a handful of people that had a similar idea as him. Mostly photographers and young couples who wanted to witness and capture the Northern Lights in time for the coming year.

Shayne kept his hood raised on the off chance he was caught in the background of one of their pictures. In spite of that, he let himself unwind. He found a nice spot by the rocky shore and plopped himself down there.

The view was breathtaking. The striking purplish pink contrasted and melded together with the vibrant green in the sky. The awe-inspiring spectacle was reflected against the dark lake’s mirror-like sheen.

He wasn’t sure how long he sat there admiring the Northern Lights. The transition over to the new year had come and gone. Little had changed. The photographers and couples a short distance away remained, just as he did. The former continued taking their pictures, adjusting and tweaking their settings as they worked. The latter lay down on picnic mats or dared to dip their toes in the chilly water. Glances were occasionally sent his way, but he paid them no mind. He was the only loner admiring the sights by himself. It was expected that he’d stick out a little.

As he looked out at the water, he couldn’t help but let his imagination wander. He could see Courtney sitting by the shoreline. She was perched on a rock and had kicked her shoes off. Her feet just barely skimmed the surface of the water as they lazily swung back and forth. She wore a thick coat that fit the chilly weather up here in Idaho. Her bright blonde hair took a green and pink hue as the lights above shined down on her. Her soulful emerald eyes twinkled in the night. She craned her head back to look at him and flashed a dazzling smile. Give her a pair of feathery wings and Shayne would swear she was an angel.

Shayne could admit to himself that he was lonely. He’d been staunchly denying it ever since Courtney brought it up. But after his dream of Nicole, and the past few days on the road, he knew better. There was no point in lying to himself.

While on the open highways, he found himself glimpsing at the passenger seat. His backpack was his only traveling companion. Sometimes, he saw Nicole in the front seat, admiring the scenery out the window. Lizzy would be strapped up in the backseat, asking how much longer she had to wait until they arrived; always so eager for her next adventure.

Other times, Shayne imagined Courtney next to him. Her alluring blonde hair would light up against the afternoon sun and her sharp wit would have him stifling full on belly laughter. Max would be panting in the backseat, head going back and forth between them like he could follow their conversation.

Shayne still had his darker days. When the nightmares were bad, and he woke up drenched in sweat, he was back to questioning what he was doing. He was uncertain of the trajectory he was putting himself on. He didn’t think he deserved this second chance at life – this _after_ that everyone was nudging him towards. Most of all, he didn’t know if he deserved to come home to New York City, to Courtney.

When the nightmares reached their worst point – when he all but begged for God to end his misery – he finally relented. Shayne let those tranquil images of Courtney come back to mind, after months of suppressing them. It still hurt to think of his family, especially all by himself in the darkness of a motel room in unfamiliar land.

It was easy with Courtney. He thought of the sofa he’d always imagined. The cool beers to be shared over a hot box of pizza. Her legs propped up onto his lap as she got comfortable beside him. Her lovely smile, and her sweet voice. Holding her and burying his face in her hair. The light laugh that would escape her lips when his breath fanned her neck.

Just the thought of her mitigated the severity of the nightmares. They never truly left him – because how could a cluster of horrific moments that twisted and shaped your life in the worst possible way, ever be forgotten? But she made it better. She made the prospect of a future seem like a possibility and not just a dream.

Shayne made his mind up as he looked up at the dancing lights in the sky.

He’d take the scenic route and wouldn’t rush it, but he was certain. He was coming home.

* * *

“I’ve got… mail?” Back at Smosh, Courtney fixed the intern with her confused eyes.

“Yup, it’s got your name on it.” The man – more of a boy than a man, really – extended the envelope to her. “A couple of ‘em arrived over the holidays so I put them together in here.”

Courtney’s brow was furrowed as she accepted the envelope and turned it over in her hands. She nodded her head to the intern and gave her thanks, sending him on his way. Courtney set the envelope down and sat at her desk.

Odds were that it was hate mail or a death threat. They’d gotten a handful of those after the last article went up. It surprised absolutely no one. Shit like this was almost routine. Nevertheless, Courtney peeled the envelope open and emptied its contents onto her desk.

Her befuddled frown grew deeper as three postcards cluttered her desk.

They were the most touristy, souvenir-tier postcards she’d ever seen. The only thing missing was the overly expensive price tag still attached to the sturdy cards. Courtney curiously leafed through them, finding the oldest one.

It was from the Grand Canyon of all places, indicated by the tacky font and strange choice of design that looked like it belonged to the late 90s.

_Yo mama so fat, she tripped, and the impact formed the Grand Canyon._

_Merry Christmas. Take care._

Courtney’s face scrunched up at the absolute absurdity of the message. She turned it over once, searching for the identity of the sender, when it hit her like a truck.

Of course, she only knew one idiot far, far away from New York that would send her something like this. Only Shayne was ridiculous enough to go _months_ without _any_ contact whatsoever, then open up with a yo mama joke.

Jesus Christ.

After the initial wave of surprise and confusion dissipated, the excitement came in to fill the gap. The giddy warmth flooded her chest and her cheeks flushed pink as she grinned widely at the card.

Shayne fucking Topp was writing to her. He was _alive_ and gave enough of a damn to write. Courtney wished she could write him back, but there was naturally no return address. He was either on the move or in hiding – probably both. Courtney’s eager hands went to the next post card.

This one was from the Desert Botanical Garden in Phoenix, Arizona. It was less tacky than the last one, if not a little over the top with the desert flora and lanterns.

_The luminarias are charming in a strange sort of way. The flora is something else, too. Hard to believe so many pretty flowers grow in the hot desert._

_I took a selfie with a paper lantern shaped like a meerkat. This place is weird._

_Take care._

Courtney had to suppress the giddy giggle that threatened to slip out of her lips at the mental image. She could see it. Shayne crouching low, extending his hand out to take the picture. She’d bet that a passerby even offered to take his photo to save him the trouble, since he was probably making a fool of himself.

This meant he was towards the West Coast, at least at the time of sending. His war must have led him there. The relative silence of gangland violence on the news, coupled with his time to send her postcards meant it must be over. Everyone involved with his family’s death was dealt with permanently. This was save for Reyes, who was still in a coma.

The knowledge that he survived his fight was all Courtney needed. He was getting his shot at that _after_ of his. No more running and gunning. He was _touring_. Courtney smiled for him. Even if she had no idea if Shayne intended to come back, she was happy for him.

The next postcard was of an idyllic lake, with the Northern Lights dancing above and reflecting off the shiny surface. From Priest Lake up in Idaho. It was the least touristy looking postcard so far. She ran her fingertips along the card’s sharp edges as she studied it. Courtney idly wondered if he was strategically picking out which cards were tacky, and which looked good.

_It’s beautiful out here. I haven’t been outdoors this much in a long time. Apart from y’know – overseas. The Northern Lights are out of this world. I wish you could see them._

There was a solid ink blot at the start of the next line, like he’d thought hard with his pen to the card before finally committing the words.

_You were right. I am lonely._

_I guess I’ve been lying to myself about that for so long I started believing in my own bullshit._

_Happy New Year. Take care._

The simplicity of the admission just about broke her heart. Courtney could see his deep frown, and his dark eyes. The pain, the loss, and the loneliness scarring his face as he sat by himself underneath the beautiful vista above.

God, this idiot needed to come back so he could stop torturing himself with the loneliness.

Max took that moment to strut on over towards her, coming from Anthony’s office. Courtney reached down to rub at the overgrown pup’s head. He looked up at her almost expectantly and didn’t take long for it to click. Courtney bundled up the three postcards and tentatively lowered them to Max. He had no reputation for tearing things up, but she didn’t need him getting too excited.

The Pitbull took an experimental sniff of the cardstock. His head recoiled, almost as if in disbelief. His eyes went up to look at Courtney, and his entire body was being wagged by the vigorous movements of his tail. He let out a yip and a whine, then started pawing at her leg.

Quietly, Courtney told him, “I miss him too, bud.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed this chapter. It was a fun one to write. Another new favorite of mine. I've been wanting to write out the postcard scenes for a while now. I did a lot of Googling and scouring Maps to figure out what attractions Shayne could hit up, and where he could spend the New Year's Eve in solitude. He's doing all his soul-searching now and will come home eventually. Stay tuned to see how that'll work out!


	24. A Chance of Absolution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shayne continues his journey eastward, towards New York. Courtney continues coping with his absence and keeping busy.

Shayne bought a Honda Civic.

It was part of the commitment to turning over a new leaf. While he stopped living out of his van weeks ago, the thing was still chock-full of things he no longer needed. If anyone saw the assortment of firearms and explosives in the back of that thing, he was done for. Not to mention the black van just screamed _murder van_. All it needed was the hastily spray-painted sign saying there was free candy within.

Shayne stripped and then dumped a number of the guns into various rivers throughout the country. The explosives were something he wasn’t keen on being washed up into the wrong person’s hands. He kept those hidden in the Civic. His vest was in there too, stashed away and unused for nearly a month. Schoonover’s safe was emptied out, and he left it in the van when he set fire to it in a rural parking lot.

Lieberman met him halfway, so to speak. He was on his way to visit family out in the countryside when they set their meet. IDs, passports, licenses, everything. Shayne’s new identity was set. It helped that he hadn’t shaved or cut his hair in weeks. His beard was coming back out now. His hair had a way to go, and he figured he’d let that grow on for a few more months. At least that way he could cut down on the hoods and the caps.

He was taking his time coming back to New York. Part of it was the desire to just explore the outdoors and enjoy the trip. The other was that he was – Shayne could admit – chickenshit. He had no idea if Courtney liked the cards or was dumping them in her trash bin. In his mind, both were highly likely scenarios.

Shayne avoided dwelling on the matter by focusing on his travelling. During the day, he hit the highways, then eventually came to stop at whatever interesting place was nearby. Historical or heritage sites, museums, parks – Shayne was down for anything.

In the evenings, he’d park at a motel and head out to whatever bar was nearby. He’d grab a beer, listen to the live music, and thankfully, stay out of trouble. Nobody had come picking a fight with him yet, and he felt lucky for that. There were times he still felt naked without the familiar weight and security of the vest and its ghostly white skull. He learned to adjust to life without it.

When he got back to his lonely motel room, he picked up whatever novel he was last chewing through and got back to it. There was a routine to it that made it easier. He’d been following routines all his life in the Marines, and they brought a sense of comfort with them.

Once his eyes grew heavy, he set the novel down and picked up the latest postcard he snagged. Shayne let the words flow out onto the cards. Sometimes goofy musings of the places he’d seen. Sometimes serious reflections of himself and of his new life. The only commonality shared among all the cards was that he trusted Courtney with his words.

* * *

Life kept going. Courtney went about her days with Max by her side. When she was finished with work, she returned to her first aid classes, which would be wrapping up in the coming weeks. She squeezed time in at the gym when she didn’t have classes. On the weekends, she hit the shooting range. She fired a hundred or so rounds out, practicing her grouping, and occasionally trying her hand at the Mozambique drill – two to the body, one to the head.

The cards kept coming. They were an invigorating thing to read and to hold in her own two hands. It was like the tangible proof that he was out there and thinking of her. Courtney slid the growing collection of postcards into her dresser mirror’s frame. They were always close by here, safely stored in her bedroom. She read them often. Sometimes when she was feeling down, or when she missed him, or when she was hitting a blank wall in her writing.

From Glacier National Park in Montana, this postcard displayed a massive mountain range and the swirling blue and orange sky above. They were reflected perfectly against a large lake, with green trees dotting the land just past the shore.

_I’ve done a lot of things I’m not proud of. I’d do them all again in a heartbeat, but that doesn’t mean I enjoyed any of it. Most days I wake up and think I can’t possibly deserve this second chance._

_I’m tired. Really tired._

_Take care._

With an abundance of caution, Courtney tucked the postcard back into the frame. She plucked the next one free and stared at it without really seeing it.

It was no surprise to her that the things Shayne did took a toll on him. As ruthless as he was, he was still human. Courtney saw how tired he was in the hospital, and later in Rikers. He needed a long break. Now that he was taking it, he was second guessing his every step.

She’d kill to have the dummy in her arms so she could console him. Tell him he deserved the rest. He deserved the second chance. He deserved an _after_.

This card was tackier than the last. The cardstock was of a poor-quality material, which stuck to her fingers when she held onto it for too long. Rolling green hills proudly covered the front of the post card, with a poor choice of orange font declaring it as Theodore Roosevelt National Park in North Dakota.

_You ever look at the lush, dewy green grass once the frost melts away and think, “Man, I wonder what that tastes like?”_

_Not me. You can’t prove it._

_Take care._

They always ended the same way. Whether the message was a serious contemplation or a lighthearted musing, it never changed: Take care.

For once, it didn’t seem like an ironic statement that should earn him a smack on the head. For once, he wasn’t diving headfirst into danger before telling _her_ to take care. It was a change for sure, but a welcome one.

Meanwhile at work, Ian and Anthony revealed the demon they’d been wrestling with. Ever since her original article went up, they’d been in touch with the suits from the DA’s office. Smosh’s corporate lawyers (out of Leak and Grossman’s specialty) had been in talks with the office to fight off lawsuits and desist orders. There were numerous threats being dropped constantly, and Ian and Anthony had been containing it the entire time. The DA’s people wanted the Karen Page article to be taken down, since it incriminated their office.

With Reyes’ coma, the lawyers from the DA’s office lost their bite. After Tower’s recent official appointment as the new District Attorney, the threats to press charges had been dropped altogether. Ian and Anthony revealed this to her now that things were cooling down. Reyes had been behind the office’s attempts at silencing them. With Tower in her seat, he was changing things up.

Courtney was able to corroborate this with Keith and Noah, who had slowly gotten in touch with Tower. The latter admitted he was building a case against Reyes and everyone else in the office who was involved in the coverup. By the time Reyes woke, he would make his move and bring justice. It was good news overall. The last remnants of the conspiracy could be mopped up while they stayed safe and out of the picture. Tower could take the heat.

After being reassured by her two bosses that Tower was steering things the right way, another delivery arrived for her.

“You’re a popular woman, Ms. Miller.” The intern, Zach, noted with a friendly smile.

Courtney huffed a chuckle and accepted the small box and the envelope that came with it. “Security gave this a check?”

“Yes, Ms. Miller. No anthrax or bombs. You’re good to go.”

With a chipper salute, Zach’s curly head bobbed down the hall. Courtney took the time to look the unmarked brown package over. She glanced over her shoulder, catching a couple of curious looks in her direction. Having been caught, they quickly returned to work as though they hadn’t seen anything.

Courtney loved everyone in Smosh, truly. But they could be such gossips. There was already a rumor going around that she got a boyfriend while on vacation that lived far out of state. Courtney did her best to disperse the rumors, but the flush in her cheeks did little to aid in her cause.

The package was a small but weighty box thoroughly secured with duct tape. Courtney set the envelope aside and procured a cutter, making short work of the packaging. She popped the lid open to reveal a collection of rectangular tin cans. With a frown, Courtney reached in and plucked one out at random.

It was a can of Spam with Chorizo seasoning. Courtney found a postcard that explained the strange package. A modern building of glass and wood punctuated by concrete painted in blue greeted her. The statue of a rancher accompanied by two pigs stood in front of the structure. At the top, the building was proudly labeled as the Spam Museum.

_You’ve got Spam mail._

_Get it?_

_…_

_You can probably see why comedy didn’t work out for me._

_On an unrelated note, let it be known I am twenty-one cans of Spam in height._

_No idea if you’re into this stuff, but I figured it wouldn’t hurt. Got a whole bunch of flavors for you to try. Could share them with your office or the lawyers if you want._

_Take care._

There was a wide assortment of flavors in the box. Courtney wouldn’t say no to the occasional serving of canned meat, but it was a bit much. She could send some to Leak and Grossman’s office later. For the meantime, Courtney repacked the cans and checked the envelope next.

This postcard showed a sparkling snowy landscape. Lush evergreen trees surrounded the back. In the foreground, a pack of strong, thick-coated dogs pulled a sled along. The subtle lettering on one side indicated this was from the Chilly Dogs Sled Park in Minnesota.

_I thought twice about this one. Always thought sled dogs were overworked and treated like shit. I guess I wanted to see for myself if it was true._

_You’ll be glad to know the doggos up here are all incredibly happy and well cared for. I haven’t seen dogs this happy in a while. The snow, the dogs – I love it up here. I bet you’d like it too._

_Give our boy a big kiss for me._

_Take care._

Her heart just about melted at his choice of words. Courtney did just that. She whistled, and Max came trotting along. He was the star of the show around Smosh’s office. He was always lounging in Anthony’s office, or under another friendly coworker’s desk. Max enjoyed being bribed in treats and lazing around to receive foot pats.

The realization dawned on Courtney when she gave their boy a kiss on the head as he sniffed the box. Shayne’s postcards were all steadily moving eastward. He was making his way towards New York.

* * *

It was nearly two months after his war when Shayne had his first close call. February had just reared its lovesick head, and idiots from all around were populating the bars, hoping to get lucky.

He was in some bar named Quinn’s in rural Wisconsin. The music was good, the beer wasn’t bad, and Shayne was too tired to drive through the night. As the days went by, he was getting more and more anxious to get back to the city. He picked and chose his stops more deliberately, not wanting to waste time on anything he wouldn’t enjoy.

Tonight, he planned on just staying for another beer before he returned to his motel across the street. The bartender tried to hit him up with small talk. She was a woman with dark hair and easygoing eyes. She’d just watched Shayne take his first swig when she spoke up.

“We don’t get a lot of hipsters around these parts.”

Shayne’s face creased with displeasure. He shook his head, “You still don’t, ma’am.”

Before she could try and get a few more words out of him, Shayne turned to lean against the bar counter. It wasn’t out of rudeness – or at least, that wasn’t what Shayne was going for. It’s that he still didn’t find his disguised to be bulletproof. His messy hair may have been growing out, but anyone who looked at him and expected to see Shayne Topp would undoubtedly see it. All it took was one person who’d recently seen his mugshot and he was done for.

It was then that this lumberjack wannabe arrived and started to push his luck with the bartender.

Shayne didn’t want to get involved – he really didn’t. It put his identity at risk, and he didn’t need that right now. But there was just _something_ about people who pestered women that ticked him off. He didn’t jump straight to the lady’s defense. Shayne let her handle it her way. She told the man off several times and occasionally shot a death glare his way. Shayne took the time to run a hand through his messy, growing hair, and tried to mind his own business.

The lumberjack continued to pester the woman for several more minutes until he grabbed her hand in an attempt to get her to listen. She tugged back against his grip, but it was firmly locked in place. At that moment, Shayne finally had enough.

He set his beer down and consciously unclenched his jaw. He turned to face them as the bartender continued trying to wrench her hand free.

“C’mon asshole,” Shayne grunted, “Let the lady go.”

The larger man squared up against Shayne and glowered down at him. This was one of those times Shayne cursed his height.

He let the bartender go and took a step forward to get up in Shayne’s face. With a sneer, he scoffed, “Yeah? What’re you gonna do about it, short stuff?”

His trigger finger tapped against the side of his jeans. Shayne had to make it a point to stop. He was packing a pistol and his KA-BAR, but he wasn’t about to draw either of those.

“Get out of here, bud,” Shayne jerked his head in the direction of the exit. “You’ve had too much to drink.”

The lumberjack scoffed out a laugh, turning his head away. Shayne caught the growing tension in his posture and picked up the cue. He weaved his head back as the man’s fist swung in his direction. Shayne landed a solid straight punch right into his face, which had him stagger a step back.

The hothead was quick to reach for Shayne’s bottle of beer. He seized it by the neck and swung at Shayne’s head. Beer splattered onto the counter and the floor as Shayne evaded the improvised weapon with ease.

After the fourth clumsy swing, Shayne caught onto his pattern. He blocked the next blow, meeting him at the wrist. Shayne tucked his head as the stop in momentum caused the bottle to be wrenched free from his hand. It sailed over him and shattered onto the ground. Shayne dug the heel of his palm into the man’s collarbone before forcing his fingers into his windpipe.

The lumberjack let out a choked sound, stumbling a few feet back. He reached for his pocket – for the knife clipped to his pants that Shayne noticed when he first walked in. He froze when the bartender leveled a shotgun in his direction. During the scuffle, she apparently pulled it out from under the counter.

“Get the fuck out of my bar!” The woman yelled. When the man flinched but didn’t move a step, she barked again, “Now!”

He made himself scarce, pushing past the small throng of people who’d began watching. He vanished past the crowd and out the door with little further incident. Half the bar hardly noticed the commotion and were carrying on as usual. The rest pointedly looked away now that Shayne and the bartender were done dealing with the man.

Shayne let out silent, heavy breaths through his nose. The brief spike in adrenaline had his hands shaking. That darker part of him was unsatisfied with the abrupt end to the fight. The asshole got off easy. Shayne didn’t even – he flexed his fingers once to check – split a knuckle open against his face. The familiar dull throb of his hand was bringing the memories and sensations of months prior back to the surface.

He could feel bone caving beneath his knuckles. He could taste blood in his mouth as shitbag after shitbag fell to his vengeful wrath. He could see the light draining out of the eyes of those vile men.

_You’re real good at puttin’ on your Punisher face, for sure. But I see you, Topp._

Shayne could hear the gruff voice in the recesses of his mind. The hazy memory reeled him back in from the bloodlust.

_That ain’t you, is it?_

Shayne allowed his back to bump into the bar counter. He swallowed down his tight throat and willed his breathing to even out. He shook his hands in the effort to get the adrenaline to dissipate, and with it, his heightened state of fight.

Bell wouldn’t want him to chase that asshole down and beat him into the dirt. Bell would want him to behave and find the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.

But Bell was also wrong.

The Punisher was part of who he was now. It was the manifestation of all the grief-fueled rage and sorrow within him. The bloody, murderous product of the void left in his soul by his family’s murder.

Whenever it came down to it, it was easy pulling the trigger – hell, it was the easiest part of getting revenge. It was the moments after that stuck with him. When he was surrounded by dead men, alone with nothing but the ringing of his ears to keep him company.

Those were the moments, fleeting and few as they may be, when he was consumed by the sheer horror of what he’d become. They were the rare instances he was tempted to eat his pistol and pull the trigger.

Any lesser man could disassociate – say that The Punisher killed those men. Go to sleep easy at night by locking that black vest with its white skull away. Think to himself that _he_ wasn’t responsible.

Shayne couldn’t do that. He knew who he was. He was a monster and a killer. He had to live with that. He had to wrestle with the knowledge that he was alive while over a hundred men were dead by his hand.

In his darkest moments, he didn’t ask why he, Shayne Topp, was allowed this second chance. He asked why he, The Punisher, was allowed it.

Yet right now, and every time the suffocating blackness enveloped him – threatening to drown him with the oppressive, bleak reality, he held onto one memory.

_I know you’re not a monster, Shayne. You’re not._

Light pierced the veil of endless, echoing grief, and rage, and depressive loneliness. A halo of blonde hair shined through the dark miasma, banishing all the shadows away.

Bright, soulful green eyes bore into his soul. He was a sinner, and she was the lone shrine that offered him a chance of absolution.

The only one who could look at the monster he was and tell him without a shred of doubt – _You’re not_. 

With shaking hands and dampness in his eyes, Shayne left a sizeable tip on the bar counter and made his exit.

He was coming home.

* * *

With Courtney’s first aid certification complete, she was once again stuck with more free time than she liked. She had the gym, sure, but she needed ample rest time too so she could make the most out of the lifting and the cardio.

It didn’t take Courtney long to settle on getting into self-defense. She’d spoken to a handful of the shooters at the range to get their opinions. The general consensus was that cross-training was the best option. Pick up bits from different disciplines to collect what worked best. There were a handful of gyms nearby. Courtney wound up signing up for Krav Maga first. If anyone could teach you to efficiently kick someone in the groin, it would be these folks. She made a mental note to sign up for other classes after she trained with them for a good month or so. Boxing, Judo, Muay Thai – they were all on the list.

The nights at the Krav Maga gym were spent learning a whole array of things. Footwork, throwing punches and kicks from a neutral and passive stance, occasionally knife and gun threats – all applicable and surprisingly fun to do. When the time came to practice escaping from chokeholds, Courtney had to excuse herself and catch a breath outside. The feeling of her airway’s constriction was too familiar for her liking. The lightheaded sensation from the oxygen deprivation and reduced blood flow to her brain made her want to throw up.

Her instructors were nice about it and helped her ease into the training. They were very professional and highly accommodating. Many of the other students in class were survivors of violent attacks. Similar to her, they wanted to avoid a repeat of the traumatic incidents. Each one of them struggled a little more with one particular training exercise or another.

Courtney was fortunate to have the instructors working closely with her. They coached her and her training partners along to slowly amp up the intensity. They started off at a level that was easier to defend and escape from. This was gradually increased until Courtney was able to break free from her own coach’s chokehold with a little effort.

These activities were important for Courtney. Not only in their practical application, but with the boon they provided to her mental health. As lovely as Shayne’s postcards were, she needed to remember to live for herself. She couldn’t let her life center around Shayne, who only God knew when he was coming back.

Olivia was busy with her final term in law school. Keith and Noah were flooded with work – both as Leak and Grossman, and helping Tower prepare his case against Reyes and multiple members of the DA’s office. Ian and Anthony were preoccupied as well, now toying around with the idea of expanding Smosh’s entertainment and comedy arm. Courtney still had friends in the office to occasionally hang with, but it was different. As pretentious as it may sound, they didn’t understand Courtney like the others did. _The People v Shayne Topp_ and all its consequences changed Courtney one way or another.

It was what made her extracurricular activities so important. She was busy, engaged, staying fit, and feeling like a total badass while doing so. Call it a coping mechanism, sure. It still made the weeks go by easier. It made the dull ache of Shayne’s absence bearable.

Courtney still spared Shayne’s family photo on her shelf an extra glance whenever she got home. Her fingertips still drew longing strokes against the postcards on her dresser. She still imagined him in bed enveloping her with his sturdy body to ward the nightmares away.

But the benefit of being tired from training was also being too tired to overanalyze her muddled feelings.

* * *

Ultimately, it was an easy decision to return to New York. There was little in his life he’d felt such certainty for, especially after the incident in Wisconsin. Shayne enjoyed the journey home, for what it was worth.

Shayne was relishing in the countryside and its less populated towns. The paranoia would always be creeping in his periphery, but it was easier to unwind with less folks around. Less people to potentially recognize him for who he really was.

Even with the idyllic countryside’s tranquil charm, the city called to him like a siren to a sailor in the mists. As the first week of February eased in, he’d been away for about two months now. It was about time he got back and sorted things out. His time alone on the road did him some good. There was a little more peace in his tumultuous mind. God knew he had a long way to go, but progress was progress.

He arrived on a Friday night. The city looked about the same as he’d left it. The glass and steel skyscrapers reflected the dim moonlight. The streets were blanketed by a thin layer of snow. All the greenery had either shed their leaves or hung onto their needles and took on a frosty coating. Shayne found himself drawn to Queens – to Damien’s.

As Shayne pulled up in front of the humble home, he felt that irrational panic rising up in his chest. It was a primal, almost animalistic, fight or flight instinct. He wanted to hit the gas and get out of here. Get clear of Damien’s life. Refrain from involving himself with his best friend. Prevent more shit from being drawn to him. Keep him clear of the line of fire for when his life inevitably went to shit again. Shayne could protect himself, but he shuddered to think of endangering Damien and Alice.

Shayne gulped down the anxiety and stepped out of the car. He wore a nonthreatening brown coat he picked up in Minnesota. In place of a hood or a cap, Shayne tugged a grey beanie over his head. He left the vest in his car, instead bringing along Damien’s cap. Its return was long overdue. In Shayne’s free hand, he packed his two-month late Christmas gift.

Before he could chicken out, Shayne marched up to the patio. The thin layer of snow crunched underneath his boots – the one part of his attire he wasn’t trading in for something less dark and foreboding. He liked his combat boots very much, thank you.

His knuckles rapped against the door. Shayne was quick to note that this was a sturdy new door. The replacement for the one that had been shot off its hinges. He listened to the shuffle of movement behind the door. The shadow underneath gave away someone peering through the peephole. Shayne flashed an uncertain smile.

The sound of numerous locks being undone filled the cool night air. The door was thrown open, revealing Alice’s awestruck face.

“Hey,” Shayne grinned.

“Dames!” Alice turned her head to yell towards the back. From the kitchen, Damien’s head peered into view. Shayne once again noted that the windows had been replaced. The chipped counter and bullet-riddled walls had been repaired as well.

Alice tugged Shayne in by the arm before he could stand outside a moment longer. Shayne dried his boots and didn’t have the chance to shrug his coat off when the woman pulled him into a hug. Barely a second later, Damien wrapped an arm around either one of them.

“I was starting to think you built a cabin in the mountains to live as a lumberjack or something.” Damien fixed Shayne with a wide smile as he pulled back. His eyes ran up and down Shayne’s healthy figure. Shayne couldn’t blame him. After all the crap he’d been through, he was surprised himself that he was still in one piece.

“Thought about it,” Shayne made a show of shrugging his shoulders, “Didn’t want you to send a SEAL team out to find me.”

Damien huffed a laugh out. He eased his hand onto Shayne’s back to urge him in once he hung up his coat and pocketed his beanie. Shayne realized he was being led over to their dining table, which was set for two. Another brief wave of anxiety hit him. The sense that he was intruding was seeping into his mind, and physically reflecting in the heat in his ears.

“Lucky for you, it’s pasta night,” Damien declared. He left Shayne with Alice by the table while he stepped into the kitchen.

“Stay,” Alice ordered him, much like one would command a dog. She made her way to one of the nearby drawers to procure all the tableware he needed.

“Yes, ma’am,” Shayne muttered and pulled up an empty chair. His nerves be damned, he couldn’t refuse these two.

“What’s all that you got there?” Damien called as he finished up preparing their dinner.

Shayne looked at the wrapped-up box and the navy-blue cap resting atop it.

“Oh, y’know… I missed deployment so much I brought you an IED…” Shayne trailed off as he craned his neck to get a better look at the kitchen. He cursed under his breath when he saw their complete arsenal of appliances.

Shayne could imagine the eyeroll from across the room as Damien answered, “Very funny.”

He leaned away from the table to allow Alice to set the plate and utensils down in front of him. He flashed her a grateful smile and was promptly asked, “Can I get you anything to drink? A beer?”

“Just water’s fine,” Shayne shook his head. He vaguely motioned outside, “I’m driving.”

Damien returned from the kitchen with the plate of pasta in his hands. As he set it down, he asked, “Are you driving some kind of murder van? Is it all black? Tinted windows? Sketchy as hell?”

“Does it say _free candy_ on the door?” Alice added.

“Hilarious,” Shayne drawled with sarcasm, “Maybe you two should’ve gone into comedy instead of graphic design and,” He looked at Alice, then towards Damien, “Yapping people’s ears off for a living.”

“Hey!” Damien called with mock offense as he took his seat.

Alice stuck her tongue out at Shayne and took her own seat.

“But anyway,” Shayne cleared his throat with no shortage of theatrics. His chest puffed up with pride and he announced, “I’ll have you know I am the proud owner of a Honda Civic.”

It earned a snort and a chuckle from the couple around him.

“You’re the actual owner?” Damien asked, “In your name?”

“Well,” Shayne shrugged, “My new name.”

That caught the two’s interest. Alice plopped a serving of pasta onto his plate and prompted him, “New name, huh?”

Shayne dug his wallet out from his pocket and pulled out his driver’s license. He slid it over for Alice to read. She set the food down to allow Damien to serve her and himself.

Her eyes widened as she read aloud, “Bradley Russo?”

Damien looked up at Shayne as he filled Alice’s plate. His eyes were lighting up with recognition. “Wasn’t that-”

“The name Billy gave me,” Shayne let out a fond chuckle. It was easier remembering Billy from the happier days. “Whenever we’d be at a bar or whatever – I’d be Billy’s wingman.”

Shayne turned to Alice, who needed the context more than Damien did. “Billy was a real good lookin’ guy, I don’t think he ever really needed my help.”

“You eased his nerves,” Damien corrected him around a mouthful of pasta. Alice playfully swatted at his arm and pointed at his full mouth. Damien raised a hand up in apology.

“The play for Billy was that I was his brother, Bradley Russo. Even if,” Shayne rolled his eyes, just as he did at Billy whenever the plan was put into action, “He’s tall and limber and has brown hair, and I’m short, blonde, and swole.”

“Hey, three shots in, you could’ve told those girls you were twins and they would’ve believed you.” Damien covered his mouth as he half-joked. He’d seen Shayne help Billy score before. They were always too enamored by Bill’s looks to really think twice of their supposed familial relationship. Shayne never had to do much, just talk Billy up a bit and chat with everyone else. He was happily married at the time, so all Shayne got out of it was the enjoyment of seeing Billy the beaut being the social butterfly he was.

They lapsed into a brief silence after that, when Shayne got to tuck his ID back into his wallet. It was the first home cooked meal he’d eaten in… months. Shayne’s easygoing smile began to falter as he chewed on the Bolognese. During his stay at Damien’s, he’d eaten Thai takeout for dinner, and the leftovers for lunch. Before that it was takeout at the courthouse, prison margarine, and hospital gruel. The last homecooked meal was with Damien and Alice before he left to start his war with the gangs. The last meal he had with Nicole and Lizzy was even longer ago.

Damien’s keen eye caught the start of his brooding. He stirred Shayne free from his thoughts. “I bet Billy would be happy to know you’re running around with that name now.”

It tugged at Shayne’s heartstrings. He felt the heat in his ears and cheeks at the humbling thought. Shayne took a long sip of water before nodding in agreement. He gave a playful smile, “Gotta continue the Russo legacy.”

“Of being a heartbreaker?” Alice, who’d learned of Bill’s many escapades, chimed in.

Shayne laughed at the unexpected jab. Once he quieted down, he shook his head, “Maybe I’ll try to improve the Russo legacy.”

“Starting with Courtney?” Damien leaned in with mischievous eyes. Alice perked up at the name and matched Damien by leaning forward as well.

Shayne gulped. His stomach performed a deft summersault. He was not having this conversation. Not now.

He didn’t know what he and Courtney had. There was no label to it. It went beyond a conventional friendship in ways he couldn’t quite define. He’d stopped trying to understand it long ago. It was easier to just embrace it. She was his beacon of hope – the one person that truly let him dare to believe he deserved this second chance.

To take the attention off of him, Shayne slid the giftwrapped box closer to the couple. Damien narrowed his eyes before relenting for the time being. He reached over to pick the cap off of the box, turning it over once in inspection. “No bullet holes. Good job.”

“Yeah, just watch out for the lice.” Shayne waved a hand with deadpan delivery. Damien and Alice laughed, and the former set the cap aside.

“This for us?” Alice’s free hand went up to poke at the wrapped box.

“Yup.” Shayne nodded. “Merry Christmas. I know it’s a bit late but,” His shy eyes avoided their gaze. “Just wanted to get you two something as a little thank you.”

“Thanks, bud.” Damien reached over to clap Shayne on the shoulder.

“Go ahead,” Shayne motioned to Alice.

“You shouldn’t have.” She gave a grateful smile before carefully unwrapping the present.

The wrapping paper unraveled to reveal the high-end coffeemaker Shayne picked out for them.

“I figured – y’know – after I smashed the last one over a guy’s head – well,” Shayne cleared his throat, “Kinda owed you guys one. But I see you took care of that,” Shayne glanced at the new, less fancy coffeemaker in their kitchen.

Shayne knew he looked like an idiot, cheeks pink, eyes flitting across the room. He couldn’t help it. He hadn’t had positive attention fixed on him in months. Getting it from both Damien and Alice was nice, but it was jarring.

“This is the swanky stuff, dude,” Damien turned the box around to get a look at the features. Alice was eyeing it as well, clearly a fan of the brand he’d chosen.

“How ‘bout a trade?” Alice proposed with a casual shrug of her shoulder, “Would be a shame to put this baby to waste,” She lovingly tapped the box, “And our current coffeemaker would need a new home.”

Shayne glanced over at the coffeemaker on their counter. It was a simple model that would get the job done. Shayne had a similar one back in his old house. The problem was –

“You could take ours to your place, and we accept the new one.”

He didn’t have a _place_. It was his first night in town and he hadn’t thought that far ahead. He’d been planning to check into a motel and figure things out from there.

The two caught on to his pause, and the uncertainty in his tightly pressed lips.

“Shayne,” Damien set his utensils down to rest his arms on the table, “Do you have a place to stay?”

It went without saying he wasn’t going back to his house. There were too many memories that haunted that house to its very foundations. That was heartache he wasn’t prepared to deal with, not by a longshot.

“No. I don’t.”

Alice and Damien exchanged glances, and it didn’t take a second for them to present a unified front.

“Stay with us.”

“Couch is vacant.”

Shayne ducked his head to contain the humbled smile that made its way up to his face. With a clearing of his throat, he faced his friends.

“I’d like that.”

* * *

Alice had done a little overtime earlier today, so she was beat. She retired early for the night, leaving Damien and Shayne in the dining room. They’d already cleared the table. Damien tried to get Shayne to sit down and relax. Naturally, Shayne vehemently refused and lent a hand in tidying up. Once that was out of the way, they cracked open a beer each and started catching up.

Shayne looked better than Damien had expected. His knuckles were free of discoloration and painful swelling. His face was missing its colorful palette of bruises and cuts. He moved with an ease that spoke of a lack of injury.

His hair was growing out. His bangs were getting long, drooping down past the middle of his nose whenever they got loose. He regularly swept his hair back into place, a new nervous mannerism that came with his long locks. The sides were getting unruly too, flowing over his ears. Since they’d been regularly trimmed down to military standard, they were shorter but no less foreign of a look on him. His beard had also come out in full force. He’d never seen Shayne rocking facial hair this heavily in his entire life.

Add the combat boots, the brown coat, and the grey beanie – Shayne looked like a hipster. All he was missing was the hair tie to knot up his glorious mane in the making. It wasn’t the first choice of disguise he would’ve given Shayne, but it worked. Damien doubted he could pick Shayne out of a crowd based on his last known appearance – clean shaven, and hair just a little past a Marine’s crewcut.

Damien listened to Shayne relaying the events of the past few months. The details and the pacing of his story varied. He broke down the time he spent with Courtney – like it was almost therapeutic to him to remember it – but then glossed over how he put a bullet in Schoonover’s head.

His recollection of how he finished off the rest of the gangs went by similarly to the latter. He skipped the details, spared Damien the gory bits and pieces. He knew how Shayne worked. It wasn’t necessary to paint the bloody picture.

When Shayne talked of his brief exercise in soul searching, the fine print came back. He spoke of what he did almost point for point. The Macrogurt he bought in the Grand Canyon’s gift store, the paper animal luminarias, the Spam factory, the sled dogs, the grand mountains, the stunning lakes – all of it.

And most importantly – his one-sided correspondence with the infamous Courtney Miller.

Damien hadn’t been in touch with Courtney, apart from when they spoke about the funeral setup for Shayne. As curious as he was about the two’s strange relationship, and how she may be faring, he didn’t want to pry.

After hearing of their dinner, and how he helped her escape Schoonover (the former of which was kept purposely vague, like the conversation was too personal), he was even more interested. Damien let Shayne set the pace, since he was finally beginning to open up about Courtney on his own volition.

“What changed, man?” Damien asked, “Before, you were so sure you wanted to push her far away – you said it was safer for her. Why the postcards? Why the,” Damien chuckled, because it was still so amusing to him, “Why the Spam?”

There was a faraway look in Shayne’s eyes as he stared past Damien. His hands were anxiously rubbing together. Almost to himself, Shayne muttered, “Sometimes I still think it’s safer that way.”

“But you’re here now, back in the same city as her.”

Shayne’s blue eyes regained focus on Damien. He licked his lips before admitting, “Nicki talked me into it.”

The familiar nickname brought a smile to Damien’s face. He hadn’t heard that since before this whole mess. If anyone could have gotten Shayne to stop running, it didn’t surprise Damien that it was Nicole. Whether it was Shayne’s subconscious or the lady herself planting thoughts in his mind, it didn’t matter to Damien. What mattered was that Shayne was being steered onto a path that involved people who cared for him.

“So, when are you planning on seeing her?”

Shayne took a sip from his beer before setting it down. He appeared to contemplate the answer as he ran his hands through his hair. He held onto his blonde locks in small fistfuls to keep them out of his face. He really needed to manbun that shit up or put a hat on.

“After I’ve got my head on straight.” Shayne gave a noncommittal shrug.

“You’re chickenshit, aren’t you?” Damien narrowed his eyes. At Shayne’s dodgy look, Damien broke into quiet laughter.

“Yeah, yeah,” Shayne waved him off.

“C’mon, dude, let’s define _getting your head on straight_ ,” Damien spared Shayne the teasing, choosing instead to be helpful, “What do we need to figure out? What’s it gonna take for you to go see Courtney?”

Shayne’s leg bobbed at an erratic rate as the nervous energy continued to course through him. Damien was glad he offered him beer and not coffee. If he got Shayne hopped up on caffeine, he’d be springing off the walls from his pent-up anxiety.

“I can’t live on your couch forever,” Shayne stated the obvious.

Damien nodded. “We don’t expect you to, or else you’d have to help out around the house.”

Shayne squinted at Damien but wore an amused smile. “I intend to help out around the house either way.”

He didn’t acknowledge Shayne’s polite intentions. Instead, Damien turned the question to Shayne, “So you wanna figure out your housing situation first?” At his nod, Damien continued, “I got a buddy from Basic that’s into realty. Might be able to hook you up.”

“Hm,” Shayne hummed, “Sounds like a good start.”

“Not sure if he has a hipster bachelor pad with faux-cement and expensive lighting though.”

Shayne’s face scrunched up in displeasure. With a scoff, he voiced his denial, “I’m not a hipster.”

“Sure,” Damien smirked. “What else?”

“I dunno, Dames – getting a routine into place? I can’t,” Shayne let out a frustrated huff, “I can’t let my life revolve around her, no matter how much I want her in it. I need a couple days to just…”

“Adjust to normal life?” Damien offered.

With a sigh, Shayne swept a few loose strands of hair back. “Something like that.”

* * *

Courtney was never one to be particular about her social life. She had a nice small circle of friends – all trustworthy, and all got along with her in their own ways. Similarly, she never made a big deal over her nonexistent love life. She hadn’t gone on a date in months and months and had been single for even longer. A part of it was due to a lack of trying. She was a very busy lady after all. The other part was that ever since graduating high school, she’d wanted to focus on herself. God knew she’d been in far too much juvenile drama in her teenage years.

That being said, she felt like a complete loser on the eve of Valentine’s Day. She was lying in bed at eight in the evening. Her hair was still damp from the shower after two long hours of hitting the mat and throwing people. She traded in her white belt and judogi for her black Punisher shirt – the most comfortable damn thing she owned. Her tummy was full of pizza, the rest having been stowed away in her fridge. Max snored from where he lied sprawled out by the edge of her bed.

To top it all off, she was re-reading Shayne’s postcards. The lonely, sappy move made her feel like the queen of loserville.

She’d trained Krav Maga for about a month and was switching out to try her hand at judo. So far, she’d been thrown around more times than she could count. It was a part of it, since everyone needed to learn how to fall, before they could learn how to throw. She must’ve landed hard one time too many, because the new dirty blonde white belt looked like Shayne at first glance.

There was a flare of excitement in her chest. She’d been tempted to pop off the mat and tackle the guy. When reality slapped her senses back into her, Courtney deflated. All the budding enthusiasm simmered down to a dull feeling of disappointment. Courtney kept her head down and focused on her technique for the rest of the class. That was what led her to leafing through Shayne’s postcards all alone in her little apartment.

They brought a sense of comfort. They were her little pieces of him that she held near and dear to her heart. They contained a wide range of emotions and sentiments. The words were clear and distinct. She could almost hear his voice speaking them aloud. The lighthearted musings in that carefree, clear tone he used when he was content. The solemn contemplations in that gravelly grumble he used when his index finger performed its anxious dance.

Courtney’s fingers traced along the sturdy edges of the postcard from Ohio’s Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. Numerous rock icons adorned the glossy card, from Elvis Presley to the Foo Fighters.

_Hawaiian bread. Peanut butter. Sliced banana. Bacon. Then grill that monstrosity in bacon fat._

_I dunno what Elvis was thinking, but I have a feeling he was onto something. If you read about my untimely passing, it’s probably because I wolfed down a recreation of his sandwich, and my heart stopped._

_Kidding. Take care._

Courtney smiled, distasteful joke or not. She could imagine him walking through the museum. It got her wondering if he was the type of guy that lagged behind on tours because he was too busy reading. Given his wide literary collection, it wouldn’t surprise her.

She picked the next postcard at random, drawing one from Pennsylvania. It was larger than the rest, allowing a sizeable portion for writing. The stylized card depicted soldiers of the Union Army and the Confederate States Army in battle. Plumes of smoke erupted from canons and muskets alike. Horses reared back as their riders brandished sabers. The card was a work of art in its own right. It was from Gettysburg National Military Park.

_Brave men and women have bled for our country since its inception. The Union stood for what they believed was right, and countless people paid the ultimate sacrifice for that. I paid my respects in the cemetery. Stood there for a while and took it all in. Fresh, chilly air. Blue but kinda cloudy skies. Green grass, since the snow melted away._

_I thought about how they must’ve felt once the war ended. Was it relief? Loss? Joy? When World War II ended, the Marines in the Pacific were all quiet and confused when the news came in. There were a couple of cheers, but those were the exceptions. There was an overpowering silence that punctuated the craggy landscape. They’d suffered insurmountable casualties at the hands of a cruel, disrespectful enemy that mutilated dead Marines. Then suddenly, it was all over._

_Those men that bled out on the rocky shores and had their bodies desecrated – they weren’t coming back. The surviving Marines had their peace, but at what cost?_

A heavy ink spot blotched the card, indicative of a long, conflicted pause.

_I have so much blood on my hands. My war is over, but nothing’s changed. My family isn’t coming back._

Several illegible words were scratched out, before the sentence was finally formed.

_I don’t know how it is that I deserve to live after everything I’ve done. For a long time, I thought a storm was crashing into my life and tearing it apart. Now I realize I am the storm._

Another messy splotch of ink marred the card. A few words were struck out, then he ultimately ended the message as he always did.

_Take care._

Through her bleary eyes, Courtney’s emphatic heart bled for Shayne like it always did. She wasn’t naïve or delusional. She was fully aware of the sort of carnage Shayne unleashed on the people who crossed his path. She’d seen firsthand the gory mess he made – tasted the blood on her own damn lips.

Courtney knew it but she cared for him anyway, far deeper than she’d ever expected to. It didn’t matter to her how many lives he’d ended with those hands. Courtney knew he never pulled that trigger on anyone that didn’t deserve it. She knew it chipped away at his very mind each time a brass casing pinged out of his weapon. A toll from his sanity was taken with every soul he condemned with his unforgiving hands.

She cared anyway, fiercely and unrepentantly.

Courtney deliberately picked an earlier card from the pile. A white rustic lighthouse stood proud, accompanied by a brick house. The surrounding trees had shed their leaves, and a white blanket of snow carpeted the landscape. The 40 Mile Point Lighthouse from Michigan greeted her.

_The lighthouse is cool, but the forests here are underrated. Just miles of untamed greenery as far as the eye can see. I think I liked Montana better, but that’s because I have a bias for the mountains._

_Maybe I’ll head out there and really get lost in nature. Become a lumberjack or something. I hear flannel looks good on me._

_Just a fantasy, though._

_I thought I hated the city after all that shit went down. But I think I’d miss the noise. The busyness. The activity. I feel like it’s where I belong, at least for now._

_Take care._

If Courtney were truly selfless, she’d wish Shayne would just disappear into the mountains and make a life for himself there. A real fresh start, far away from all the ghosts that haunted him. It would be better for him. He could live without the creeping doubt and uncertainty that someone survived his rampage and would take revenge. He could find his after there.

But Courtney wasn’t that selfless. She wanted him here where she could see him and care for him. Close by, so she could draw her own gun to protect him for a change. God help anyone that tried to take him away from her if he came back.

In the end, no matter how hard she felt for him and cared for him, the decision would be his. Whether he came back to the city or disappeared into the mountains, Courtney would stand by his decision. This wasn’t about what she wanted. This was about Shayne’s _after_.

The knock on the front door startled her from her angsty brooding. Courtney wasn’t expecting anyone at this hour, so she took the necessary precautions. She retrieved the .380 from her bedside drawer and pulled the slide back in a press check. Satisfied with the chambered round, she stood up. The movement stirred Max from his snoring. His head lazily turned towards Courtney as she tugged a pair of shorts on. The last thing she needed was an altercation with remnants of the Blacksmith’s crew and accidentally flashing her underwear mid-fight.

Max’s nose gave a twitch and a snort. He hopped off the bed and began padding towards the living room. Courtney combed a hand through her damp hair and followed Max. The Pitbull made his way to the front door. His languid steps grew faster by the moment as he neared his destination.

Courtney took a page from Shayne’s book. She took air in through her nose and let it out through her mouth. With several sharp breaths, she felt the faintest lightness in her head, and a tingle through her muscles. If she was going to have to shoot someone tonight, she wouldn’t miss. Biker, Irish, Cartel, Blacksmith – whoever they were, she was ready.

Max sniffed the underside of the door, and his tail began to wag in a mad flurry. Courtney squinted at the dog’s peculiar reaction that was neither timidly anxious nor furiously protective. The only person that got Max that fired up was –

Courtney’s heart flipped in place and crashed into her ribs, begging for release. She stepped towards the door. Her gun’s safety was flicked off, and she kept the weapon pointed low but at the ready.

Courtney cursed her abundance of locks and complete absence of a peephole. She held the pistol in her left hand with her finger resting on the trigger guard. She pressed it against the door. Her fears and anxiety were dissipating by the moment, but there was always that sliver of doubt – that possibility that it was a trap. Courtney had been burned enough to know not to take any chances.

Courtney undid the deadbolt and lock, leaving the chain in place – her lifeline that could prevent entry into the room. Yet as Courtney turned the knob, she knew in her heart the precautions would soon no longer be needed.

The door cracked open a few inches, stopped by the chain.

Shayne Topp – whole and healthy, albeit looking like a hipster, stood in her doorway. He gave Courtney a nervous smile that she was tempted to wipe off with her lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this one. Work's been kicking my ass so I haven't had as much time to write. The full reunion is in the works in the next chapter, and I can't wait for you guys to read it. There were a couple sections here that took me a few rewrites, including the abrupt bar fight. Shayne's brief emotional spiral and recovery were somewhat inspired by Hozier's Take Me To Church.
> 
> On another note, this is a good representation of the mangy hairstyle I imagine Shayne's growing out to help stay incognito. https :// i . pinimg. com/originals/7b/8a/90/7b8a90f25d9cba2bd166103176551c75.jpg


	25. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Courtney and Shayne reunite.

Courtney’s reaction to seeing Shayne was instantaneous. It was like flipping a switch.

She flicked the safety of her gun on and set it down on the nearest shelf. The chain came undone, allowing the door to swing fully open. Her hand seized Shayne by the elbow and she craned her head out the hallway. A precautionary glance up and down revealed the coast was clear and no one had seen him waiting outside her door. Shayne nearly stumbled inside with the urgency with which Courtney reeled him in.

Max was already yipping in excitement. He was up on his hind legs, reaching for Shayne. Courtney listened to his fond chuckle as he petted the happy pup on the head. She secured the locks on the door before turning to rest her back against the solid wood.

Shayne looked good.

He made to bend down and greet the dog properly but felt the weight of her gaze on him. Shayne tore his eyes away from Max to take in the sight of her. Courtney did the same.

Shayne’s knuckles were free of swollen black and blue splotches. His face was as good looking as ever – no black eyes or split lips. Given that he didn’t wince or topple over when she yanked him in, he seemed free of other injuries as well.

His attire was surprisingly nonthreatening. Shayne was still rocking his combat boots, but that seemed to be a staple for him before his life was torn asunder. He wore blue jeans, free from blood and muck. His bulletproof vest and its haunting white skull were traded in for a regular plain black shirt. The hooded coat he used to conceal his body armor and identity was replaced as well. In its place was a fashionable brown coat, lined with cream colored faux fur. He had a backpack slung over one shoulder – and not a 5.11 tactical backpack. It was a regular old backpack, partially concaving in on itself, indicative of a light load.

Shayne’s hair had grown out, which was what struck her the most. It was unruly in a ruggedly attractive sort of way. It made him look like the male lead in a bad romance novel. The kind of book that would portray him in a fitted Henley with the buttons undone. The beard was new, too. It looked well cared for and Courtney wondered what it felt like brushing against her skin.

He looked like a hot hipster.

Courtney could admit these things to herself in the privacy of her mind.

It still had her cheeks flushing a light pink though.

It was only then that Courtney realized Shayne had started staring at her chest. His eyes were wide at first, then narrowed into a befuddled frown. Before Courtney could cross her arms and yell at him for being a pervert, it all clicked together.

“Oh my God,” Shayne let out a confused laugh, “What the hell is that?”

Courtney looked down at the white skull emblazoned on her long black shirt. She crossed her arms in the end, but more out of embarrassment. “It’s your merch!” Courtney declared, like it was no big deal.

“Why?” Shayne’s hand came up to stifle his laughter, “Why are you wearing my merch?”

“It’s comfy!” Courtney rolled her eyes, “Leave me alone, dude.”

Shayne bit his lips to keep back his amused cackling. Courtney pouted, even as she savored the sight of the twinkle in his light blue eyes. The guy was fucking gorgeous when his face wasn’t a mess of bruises.

Courtney walked towards her kitchen, motioning him towards the living room. “Can I get you a beer or something?”

She stopped by the fridge to turn and face Shayne, who appeared to consider it for a moment. He idly scratched at Max’s head and finally answered, “Sure.”

Courtney picked out two bottles before digging around for her bottle opener. In the corner of her eye, she could see Shayne looking around and taking in the scenery. He looked almost solemn in how he studied her furniture and décor.

“You look well,” Courtney spoke up, earning a shy and almost surprised smile from Shayne, “You’re rocking the whole – uh,” Courtney consciously dropped the word _hot_ , “Hipster thing.”

Shayne huffed a quiet laugh. With a mischievous tone, he told her, “I’ve been flirting with the idea of going full manbun. Think I could pull it off?”

Courtney popped the bottlecaps off and approached Shayne in the living room. He was likely joking, but Courtney had a feeling he could pull any look off. She pursed her lips in a show of serious thought before nodding, “I think you could.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Shayne accepted the beer with a smile, clinking the bottom of the bottle against her own. He took a sip then before her shelf caught his eye. Shayne kept the bottle securely in hand as he walked the few steps over to the collection of framed pictures. Shayne’s family photo was right at the forefront.

His body tensed at the sight. Courtney watched Shayne let out a shaky exhale. She moved forward without really thinking twice of it.

Courtney set the bottle down on her coffee table before coming up behind Shayne. Without a moment’s hesitation, she eased her hands around his sides to come and wrap around him. Her body pressed flush against his, enveloping him in her comforting warmth. Courtney settled her chin on his shoulder, which wasn’t too difficult given the minimal difference in height.

Shayne stiffened up for a second. Courtney was just about to relent a fraction to grant him some breathing room when his whole body relaxed. His free hand came to cover her joined hands around his midsection.

It was only in that moment that Shayne’s presence truly sunk in and registered in her mind. Courtney clung onto him all the harder as the ache of how much she missed him dwindled away.

He was alive. He was safe. He was home.

She breathed in the smell of him, hoping she wasn’t being too blatantly obvious. There was no lingering smell of gun oil, blood, or smoke. He just had the vague fragrance of citrus that came from either his soap or his shampoo. She couldn’t tell which since his long hair was close to her nose.

“Thanks for holding onto it, Court.”

“Of course.”

Shayne’s thumb rubbed against her knuckles as he craned his neck to ask, “You mind if I take it back?”

“It’s yours, dummy.” Courtney smiled.

Shayne ducked his head for a moment, like he hadn’t realized how strange his question was. He held the framed photo in his hand and looked at it with longing eyes. The sadness that clouded his blue eyes never quite subsided. But Courtney didn’t miss how their intensity had been tempered. It wasn’t so much of an all-consuming and destructive storm. Now it was like a dull ache that lingered deep in his being. Something that he had to learn to live with.

Courtney released Shayne from her embrace as she remembered the wedding ring. Shayne set his backpack on the coffee table to store the photo, while Courtney excused herself for a second. His postcards were still gathered on her bedsheets. Courtney was glad Shayne didn’t trail after her into the bedroom. Otherwise he would’ve seen she’d been rereading them like a sap. Shayne could follow her into her bedroom some other time.

Courtney’s cheeks burned hot at the thought as she went about retrieving the ring from her bedside drawer.

When she got back to the living room, Shayne was sitting on the sofa next to Max, who contentedly gnawed on a tennis ball. In Shayne’s hands was the gun she left on the shelf by the door. He was turning it over and inspecting it. A tiny upturn persisted by the corner of his lips.

“I think you might want this back, too.” Courtney got into place on the other side of the couch. Max acted as their divider, which may have been for the better. Courtney wasn’t sure she’d be able to keep her hands to herself otherwise.

Shayne set the gun down and turned to look at the small jewelry box. His hands contained the slightest tremble as he accepted it. The simple, elegant gold band was as shining and spotless as the day she stashed it safely away. There appeared to be a hundred thoughts running amuck in Shayne’s head. Like he was weighing all the pros and cons of wearing it or hiding it. Courtney bought him a little time to think it over by taking a long sip of beer.

It was as if he was paralyzed with how he wasn’t moving, eyes locked onto the ring. Courtney wasn’t sure if it was in her place to make a suggestion, but she tried anyway. Anything to help ease Shayne’s troubled mind.

“How ‘bout you get a chain for it?” Courtney offered, “Like to wear it as a necklace.”

Shayne’s brows pitched into a frown, like he hadn’t thought of it.

“It’s an idea,” Shayne nodded. He made to take the ring out and hand the box back, but she waved him off. At her insistence, he stowed the little jewelry box into his backpack.

“Figured it’s about time I settle a debt I owe you,” Shayne reached into his bag further. Courtney watched him with a curious tilt of her head. A small giftwrapped box emerged from the bag and was presented to her.

Courtney beamed at the sight of the festive packaging and its bright red ribbon. She coped with the growing heat in her face by chiming in, “A little late for Christmas, don’t you think?”

Shayne shrugged with a coy smile, “At least you can’t say I didn’t give you anything.”

The ribbon came undone, and she opened up the packaging with a lack of finesse. Shayne watched her with an amused glint in his eyes as she tore it up. The wrapping paper gave way to reveal the box of a brand-new iPhone to replace the cracked up one she left in her room.

“After chasing you around with a shotgun and sort of causing Grotto to trip you, well,” Shayne cleared his throat, “You said it yourself,” He referenced their conversation in prison all those months ago, “With Grotto gone, _technically_ , I owe you for that.”

“Shayne,” Courtney couldn’t hold back the grin coming up ear to ear. “You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to.”

It was a great gift and a sweet gesture. If Shayne didn’t knock it off, she swore she was going to kiss the idiot.

Courtney set the box on the coffee table. She could tend to transferring her data later. For now, she had Shayne all to herself. No bullets or explosions or sharpened toothbrushes to interrupt them.

“So, you decided to come back? You done with that whole lumberjack in the mountains idea?”

“You got my cards?” Shayne asked with raised brows. Courtney frowned at his reaction. He sounded worried that she ignored them completely.

“Of course,” Courtney bit her lip before adding, “I hung them up on my dresser and everything. They were a good reminder you weren’t in a ditch somewhere.”

“Yeah?” Shayne ducked his head for just a moment, concealing the smile spreading on his face. When he looked back at her with a more neutral expression, he asked, “The Spam too?”

“The Spam was kinda hard to miss,” Courtney chuckled, “Now everyone at Smosh thinks I have a boyfriend out of state.”

Shayne’s face twisted into a mix of an embarrassed grimace and an amused smile. He shook his head at that and asked, “Did you give some to Leak and Grossman?”

“I did,” Courtney paused and decided it was best that he was fully in the loop, “But I said it was like, from family. We agreed to act like we never heard from you after the explosion. I thought it was best, like legally, if they didn’t know you got in touch with me again.”

“So, they know I’m alive, but not that I’m back?”

“Yup,” Courtney popped the _p_ out.

“Probably for the best,” Shayne muttered.

“You’re here to stay?” Courtney then quickly added, “In – in the city, I mean. But – like – if you don’t have a place, y’know,” She stammered, “You’re welcome to stay here.”

It went without saying that there was no way Shayne was moving back into his old house. That would be far too painful for the poor guy. He needed to start over and work his way back to even setting foot in that house.

Shayne took a sip of his beer before leaning back into the sofa, “I appreciate it, but there’s no need. I got a place.”

Courtney was almost impressed. A part of her worried he was going to be sleeping out the back of his black murder van. “Really? Is it an actual place or a shithole with a mattress on the floor?”

He gave her a fond roll of his eyes. “It’s a one-bedroom apartment in Murray Hill.”

It was a nicer part of town. That, combined with the fact he up and bought her a phone, meant he had money. It was an easy guess that he took Schoonover’s spoils of war for himself. Though that then begged the question of how he was renting an apartment. His name was infamously known throughout the city. Anyone that read of Shayne Topp applying for a lease would shit bricks.

“How did you manage that? You got a fake ID, or something?” Courtney asked.

“You’re looking at Bradley Russo.”

Courtney’s face scrunched up at the name, “Okay – I get Russo, but _Bradley_?” She laughed as Shayne’s face matched her own distasteful expression, “You don’t look like a Bradley.”

“The tipsy girls who I helped Billy charm thought otherwise.” Shayne wore a fond smile and a distant look in his eyes. She could see the memories flashing through his mind. Courtney could almost imagine it. The men made for a handsome duo. She could easily see Shayne hyping up Billy in some club or bar.

“Okay, _Bradley_ ,” Courtney giggled, “What have you been up to since you got back?”

“Please don’t call me Bradley,” Shayne clasped his hands together in a pleading gesture, “At least, not in private.”

She laughed all the more at his distress but conceded with a nod. Satisfied with that, Shayne answered, “I’ve been here for like, a week. Got the apartment just a few days ago, so mostly just… figuring stuff out, really.”

Courtney leaned back into the sofa as she watched him. He had that thoughtful, if not a little lost, look in his eyes. Shayne had all the time in the world now that his mission was over. It must have been jarring to go from having such a defined purpose, and then nothing.

“And how is… _figuring stuff out_ going?”

“Hard,” Shayne admitted with a gentle frown on his brow, “Lonely,” He let out a humorless laugh.

Courtney swirled the bottle of beer around in a moment of contemplation. Shortly after, she took a sip, and offered, “You got me, bud. You don’t have to be alone. In fact…” She pushed off the couch and onto her feet. With just the slightest alcohol-induced sway in her step, she went over to the kitchen. Max let out a snort and hopped off the sofa to trot after her. Courtney dug through a particular drawer to retrieve her spare keys.

Shayne’s mouth loosely hung open as she returned with the keyring extended. Courtney sat down next to him, closer this time. Max followed her back like the clingy pup he was. He picked up his dropped ball and jumped up to sit by Courtney’s side.

“Feel free to come by whenever. If you wanna drop in to say hi, or take Max for a walk-”

“Court, I can’t…”

“Sure you can,” Courtney took his hand, turning the palm over so she could entrust him with the keyring. She gently closed his fingers around the set of keys.

At her mention of Max, Courtney knew she had to make the offer, even if it pained her to do so. Max was his companion before he was hers, after all.

“Do you… you wanna take Max back?”

Shayne was quick to shake his head, “I couldn’t separate you two.” He looked over at Max, who laid his head on Courtney’s lap. “Though visiting him makes for a good excuse to drop by.”

Courtney felt a flutter in her chest at Shayne’s mischievous smile. Through the growing heat of her face, she said, “Fine by me.”

“Thanks for looking after him,” His loving eyes fixed on Max just about made her swoon. “And thanks for trusting me with this,” He jingled the keys with a smile, and then pocketed them.

It seemed almost silly to Courtney to be thanked for handing him the spare keys. The trust between them was on a level unlike any other. After trusting each other with their lives, a set of house keys seemed so inconsequential.

A comfortable silence fell between them. It was a companionable sort of tranquility. Courtney reveled in it, enjoying being able to sit close to him in the safety of her home.

The normalcy of it all was new. Every time she’d spoken to Shayne prior, he was cuffed to a hospital bed, chained to a table, bleeding half to death, dodging bullets, actively stalked by armed men, or dragging Schoonover into the woods.

It was like their entire relationship was based on brief moments – split seconds of peace through the chaotic storm around them. There was never any time. Always a threat to evade or a fight to endure. Always a foe encroaching on their position. Always some form of danger looming overhead.

Throughout those moments, they had each other. They drew a feeling of vigor from one another. In the knowledge of the other’s strength, they drew resolve. In the presence of the other’s determination, they drew newfound energy. Courtney had never connected with anyone in such a way before. She treasured Shayne, turmoil and all.

To see Shayne here in her apartment, free of injury, nobody hunting him down – it was invigorating. Courtney wanted nothing more than to keep him safe and happy. After everything he’d been through, he deserved it. He deserved his _after_. Anyone that disagreed could complain to her .380.

Shayne had been fidgeting with the damp label on his bottle of beer. His fingers peeled away at one corner, almost like a substitute for the staccato tapping of his trigger finger.

“You okay?” Courtney gave him a gentle nudge on the arm to get his attention. His fingertips ceased their fidgeting against the bottle.

“Just thinking.”

“Can I ask what about?”

Shayne held the bottle with both hands. His fingers clasped over one another in an attempt to minimize their fiddling. “In Rikers, I had this… I had this friend.”

Courtney draped her arm over the backrest of her couch and turned to better face him.

“His name was Bell. David Bell. He,” Shayne chuckled, “He pissed me off half the time I knew him. But he was solid.” His eyes darted to Courtney’s, and then away. “We survived the hit because of him. He went against orders and undid my restraints, gave us the shiv.”

His Adam’s apple bobbed with a gulp, “They killed him for throwing a wrench in their plans. He knew they would, but he helped us anyway.”

Courtney’s hand inched over to settle by the nape of his neck. She gently ran her thumb along his skin in soothing motions. Shayne leaned in a fraction further into her touch.

“He did it because we were both Marines. That’s all it took for Bell.” Shayne frowned at his bottle of beer while he spoke. With a sip, he went on, “He knew I was tired. Knew I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life hurting people. He told me I needed to have an _after_.”

The familiar sentiment tugged at Courtney’s heart. Their emotional discussion in the diner was still fresh in her mind.

“He said once I found it, I needed to hold on with two hands, then never let go.” Shayne swirled the bottle around. “Easier said than done, I guess. I dunno what I’m doing.”

Courtney found herself playing with the tips of his long strands of hair. She settled on being supportive of him. It was what they did for each other. Whether in the midst of a bloody prison fight, or in quiet moments like this.

“We’ll figure out what that _after_ looks like.” Courtney gave a playful tug of his messy hair, “You and me. We’ll figure it out.”

“You and me, huh?” There was a twinkle in Shayne’s eye. The vague sense of déjà vu from the courthouse breakroom washed over them.

Courtney smiled, “You and me, babe.”

Her eyes widened. So did Shayne’s.

“Bud – I mean,” Courtney withdrew her hand and inched back, “Y-you and me, bud.”

Shayne’s face turned a deep shade of pink as he tried to look anywhere in the room but at her. He raised the beer bottle up to press his knuckles against his mouth and suppress his embarrassed smile.

“Sorry!” Courtney shoved her own blazing hot face in her hand, “I meant bud!”

Shayne took quick note of how she was as embarrassed as he was. He made it worse. “Jeez, you call people _babe_ on the second date?”

“Second date?” Courtney frowned doubtfully at him, even as she grinned like an idiot.

He took a page from Courtney’s own book when he said, “Hey, you turned this into a date when you offered me a drink.” Recognition flashed in his eyes, and he swiftly added, “It’s Valentine’s Day, too. This was your plan from the start, wasn’t it?”

“You’re so dumb,” Courtney groaned in an effort to cover up the blush in her cheeks. “Quit it!”

Shayne raised his hands in surrender but didn’t bother wiping away his shit-eating grin. It only slipped away when he brought the beer back up to take a swig, when he had enough of teasing her. Once she’d regained a sense of composure, Courtney asked him to talk about his road trip once the mission was over. Shayne’s fidgeting fingers were calm against the cool glass of his bottle. There was a certain serenity in his face as he spoke. No hard frowns or curled lip. Just the faint smile while recalling the months he’d been away.

He talked about the rolling mountains in the countryside. Some bare and white from winter’s bitter chill. Others still evergreen, speckled with a coating of snow. He spoke of the museums and the historical sites. The long drives on the occasionally icy roads. The stretches of silence he used to ponder over what his life had become. The darker moments when he questioned if he deserved this peace now that it was over.

Courtney never failed to reassure him that he deserved his _after_.

With Max no longer acting as their divider, they’d inched closer together. Courtney wasn’t sure when it happened. The gravity between them may have just drawn them closer. There’d always been an indescribable pull towards Shayne since the moment she met him. It was as physical as it was emotional.

At first it was their knees brushing against each other. Then their thighs met and mutually came to a rest. Pretty soon, their sides pressed together. It was cold this time of year, and Shayne emanated warmth – who could blame her?

Listening to Shayne’s soothing voice regale her of his trip was more relaxing than she expected. By the time he was finishing up, Courtney’s head had drooped down to rest on his sturdy shoulder. She did her best to stifle down the yawn which came up.

“That boring, huh?” Shayne quirked an eyebrow.

Courtney shifted her head to look at him. “Oh yeah. The boring-est.” At the sight of his eyeroll, Courtney let her hand come up to rub at his upper arm. With a far more genuine smile, she told him, “I’m really glad you got some time by yourself to think and grieve.”

“It was nice, but if I was by myself for any longer, I might have lost it.” Shayne admitted.

“Well, you’re not alone now.” Courtney suppressed another yawn with her hand, “What’s next for Shayne Topp?”

“That’s part of why I came here tonight.” Shayne’s eyes flitted away in that familiar tick of hesitation. Courtney let out an inquisitive hum, prompting Shayne to go on. “You doing anything tomorrow morning?”

Courtney’s heart made another little twirl in her chest. If Shayne kept this up, she was going to wind up in the emergency room. Never in a million years did she think Shayne was going to try and _make plans_ with her. In the time she’d known Shayne, there was always the present. The bullet-strewn, chaotic present. The next day never had a whole lot of certainty to it. Now here he was, sitting on her couch and planning for the next time they’d meet. Like it was the most ordinary thing in the world – which it was, but Shayne Topp and ordinary never melded together.

Courtney put on a little show of reluctancy, just because it was no fun being too easy for him.

“Ugh,” Courtney let out a half-hearted grunt, “Does it have to be morning?”

Shayne cracked a smile and gently nudged her with his shoulder. “C’mon, we can get breakfast and then beat the lines.”

“What lines?”

“I’m in the market for a couch, desk, and some other stuff. I was thinking maybe we could hit up the Ikea in Brooklyn. Help me pick out some nice furniture for my place?” The longer Shayne drew out his explanation, the more nervous he grew. She watched his tongue dart out for a split second to lick his lips. His hand came up to sweep back his messy hair.

“Y’know – if – if you got something planned,” He shrugged the shoulder Courtney wasn’t leaning on. “I totally understand if-”

“Shayne,” Courtney’s finger scratched at his beard once because she could _not_ keep her hands to herself. Not to mention physical distance seemed to mean so little to them. After fighting together, bleeding for each other, and quite literally shielding each other from harm – what were physical barriers?

Courtney gave him a bright, excited smile to dash his worries away. “I’m so down for that.”

“How does nine sound?”

“Nine thirty,” Courtney countered.

Shayne squinted at her for a beat and said, “Nine fifteen.”

“Nine twenty or you’re looking for a different shopping buddy.”

His eyes rolled back into his head with a little excess and he conceded. “Fine. I think we can bring Max.”

“Pets are allowed in the showrooms?” Courtney asked.

“Nah. There’s a _dog parking_ area,” Shayne drew air quotes with his free hand. “We could let him hang around there.”

Courtney didn’t bother fighting the grin as she punned, “Oh, like a _barking lot_?”

Shayne snorted and shot her pun a judgmental look, even as the wide smile spread on his face. Courtney continued staring at him from the corner of her eye, nudging him as she grinned.

“Hm? Barking lot? Hm?” Courtney’s elbow poking at Shayne’s ribs was swatted away as he grimaced.

“This is the worst Valentine’s date I’ve ever been on.”

Courtney laughed at the deadpan delivery and the displeased look on that face she adored. A part of her still couldn’t believe he was here. When Courtney imagined having Shayne over, there was always this whimsical feel to it. A mild sense of grandeur even, in finally having him safely at home with her. Instead, it was just… comfortable.

As broody as he could be, Shayne brought a certain presence with him. It was warm, safe, and comforting. Just by being here, he banished all the dark shadows that lurked in her lonely flat. The tight bond of companionship between them translated to a casual setting as well as it did in a fight.

The way Shayne leaned back with ease on her couch, it was like he’d known Courtney for years. His usually stiff back and rigid shoulders were free of their tension – he could relax here. It made Courtney’s heart swell to know he was able to be at peace in her home.

Courtney never had the best track record when it came to this sort of thing. She was still partially in denial, but there was no use lying to herself – she liked him. She didn’t know what on earth to do with that information. Pushing Shayne while he was still clearly in pain was the last thing on her mind. Courtney would give him all the time and space in the world if it were what he needed.

It was why she wound up telling him, “It’s getting late.” Courtney didn’t want to push her luck. The pessimist in her knew how much of a shit magnet she could be. She would rather end the night on a high note than risk saying something she’d regret. Besides, they already had the next day planned out ahead of them.

“Getting rid of me already?” Shayne asked with mock offense.

Courtney shook her head with a soft huff. “I need my beauty sleep since you’re dragging me out of bed early tomorrow.”

It was Shayne’s turn to give her an amused scoff. He accepted the excuse in the end, standing up and taking her emptied bottle. Ever the gentleman, Shayne went ahead and disposed of the bottles on her behalf. Courtney didn’t think she could ever tire of seeing Shayne in her space.

Max was still snoring on the sofa by the time Shayne retrieved his backpack and met her by the front door. His hands gave a little twitch by his sides, like he wanted to reach for her but stopped himself. Courtney saved Shayne the anxiety of figuring out how to say goodbye.

“Thanks for the beer – oh,”

She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him in. Shayne didn’t tense this time, instead covering up his surprise with a low chuckle. He stepped into the embrace wholeheartedly. There was a certain way that he held Courtney. He was bigger and stronger than most she’d dated in the past. Shayne held her tight, like he was worried the ground would open up and take her away from him. Yet he held her with such care, like he was afraid of breaking her. Everything about it made it the best damn hug she’d ever gotten.

“It’s really good to see you,” Courtney mumbled into his neck. She tried to memorize the feeling of his hands – one on the small of her back, the other trailing up and down in soothing motions. The selfish, reckless part of her wanted to ask him to stay the night. Her couch was comfortable. So was her bed.

Her rational mind took over and banished the idea before it could ruin things between them. Courtney pulled back just enough to get a good look at him – to commit his bearded, unbruised face to memory.

She watched him gulp, eyes flighty before they dared to finally meet hers. “It’s good to see you too.” The admission had a visible effect on Shayne, like he let out a breath he’d been holding. His body relaxed, and he managed to flash her an easy smile.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” Courtney added with a mischievous glint in her eye.

Shayne’s brow furrowed, more out of amusement than anything else. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Court.”

Just because Courtney was never one to shy _too_ far away from recklessness, she pressed a quick, chaste kiss to his fuzzy cheek.

Shayne blinked once or twice in surprise. He licked his lips as his cheeks quickly turned pink. Courtney giggled at Shayne’s expense when he turned his head away to conceal his flushed face. She couldn’t put into words the giddy warmth she felt in her chest. They were acting like teenagers but fuck it. After everything they’d been through, they earned it.

They soon pulled away. She didn’t mind Shayne’s hands trailing around her hips and hesitating for a beat, unwilling to leave. If Shayne noticed her hands lingering on his sturdy chest, he made no note of it either.

There was a sense of comfort to be drawn from being able to say with certainty, “See you tomorrow.”

No fear of him being jumped by inmates or shot by hitmen or caught by the police. Shayne’s cover was solid. If she weren’t so familiar with the broad cut of his shoulders and his handsome mug, she wouldn’t be able to pick him out of a crowd.

Courtney could tell the feeling was mutual when Shayne smiled wide and said, “See ya.”

Once the locks were undone, Shayne lingered by her doorway for a moment longer. His trigger finger tapped against the side of his jeans for just a second before he told her, “Thanks for everything, Court.”

Courtney kept it light. “Hey, don’t thank me yet – I might not even wake up on time tomorrow.”

Shayne rolled his eyes, his face splitting into a lopsided smile. “I’ll just honk outside your building _really loudly_ until you come out.”

“Do _not_ do that.” Courtney pointed a finger in warning.

Shayne pursed his lips in a show of thought. With a shrug, he answered, “I’ll think about it.”

Courtney gave him a disapproving glare for a few long seconds. Eventually, Shayne chuckled with a shake of his head. “Good night, ma’am.”

“Night, Shayne. Take care.”

She watched him tug a beanie over his head like the hot hipster he was. Courtney only closed the door once Shayne disappeared down the stairs. She stopped by the couch to rouse Max from his snoring. The overgrown pup’s head swiveled around before he let out a quiet whine, almost as if in question.

“You’ll see your daddy tomorrow, Max.”

Max tilted his head at her.

“I wanted him to stay the night too, okay?” Courtney smiled at the dog. She waved her hand to motion him over to the bedroom. He obediently hopped off the couch and trailed after her as she added, “Maybe some other time. For now, he needs to set the pace.”

Max let out a snort which Courtney couldn’t quite interpret. He took his place by the lower side of her bed as she cleaned up the postcards. Once they were all tidied up, she slipped under the covers.

Courtney slept better that night than she had in months. Her lovely dream of snuggling up to Shayne on her couch probably had a hand in that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed the much-awaited reunion, and the things to come. With how busy it's been lately, I'm probably going to stick to chapters around this length for a while, and updating twice a week as much as possible. I'm bad at predicting my chapter count and length (At the start, I thought I'd finish this in 15 chapters), but I expect to wrap this up by the low 30s. We're entering the final leg now, and I'm as nervous as I am excited. I appreciate all the support of everyone that's stuck around this wild ride, especially you lovely folk that took the time to write in. Have a great day now.


	26. Färlöv

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Courtney and Shayne go shopping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to Every Ikea Ever for the inspiration for a few of the jokes here. Also give Jonathan Coulton's Ikea a listen. You won't regret it.

Waking up was a pain in the ass for Courtney. Having plans with Shayne was what motivated her to refrain from hitting snooze. She didn’t have a spring in her step – it was too early for that shit – but she did go about her morning preparations with a certain eagerness. Her makeup was on point, and she settled on a cute top, warm leggings, and a thick coat. Sure, they were just grabbing breakfast and going to Ikea, but Courtney still enjoyed looking nice around Shayne.

When Courtney was making her way down the stairs, it clicked that she had no way of coordinating with or contacting Shayne. They simply agreed to meet at nine twenty, and that Shayne would pick her up. She couldn’t text Shayne to let him know that she was ready. By the time she made it to the lobby with Max in tow, Courtney realized it seemed so typical of him, in a way. She almost felt dumb for not assuming sooner that the fugitive presumed dead wouldn’t have a phone. He probably had a burner like a flip phone or something.

Her watch signaled that she’d gotten to the front steps of her apartment on the dot. She wrapped her hands around her chilly self and scanned the nearby cars. There weren’t any heavily tinted and highly suspicious black murder vans in the area. Though there was one Civic that was pulling over and –

The sedan’s window rolled down, revealing Shayne’s bearded face.

Courtney tried to contain her surprise at his perfectly normal choice of car. They exchanged their greetings, and Courtney buckled Max into the backseat before joining Shayne at the front. He was rocking a thick red flannel shirt along with some dark jeans and his usual boots. He was more of a hot lumberjack than a hot hipster today.

“What’s up? Do I have something in my beard?”

Courtney ceased her ogling and turned to face the frosty road ahead. She needed to get her act together or else she’d be eyeballing Shayne all day.

“I haven’t grown a beard out since…” Courtney saw Shayne frown in thought from the corner of her eye. “A couple times while home from deployment, but never this thick.”

“It’s a good look,” Courtney admitted, and promptly switched topics with a clearing of her throat. “I, uh – I wasn’t expecting the Civic.”

Shayne rolled his eyes in a manner that hinted he’d had this conversation already, “Yeah, I gotta write _free candy_ on the doors or something, right?”

Courtney giggled but shook her head. She could sense the slight frustration. No doubt he wanted to distance himself from his retired persona of The Punisher. Before all this, he was a pretty ordinary Marine. “I guess I expected something with a bit more… utility? Since you drove cross-country, I thought maybe you’d have something more road-trip friendly.”

Her save worked. The mild unease in his brow tapered off. Shayne gave a half-hearted shrug. “I’ve always been a simple guy when it comes to cars. Back h-” He cleared his throat, abruptly stopping himself from using the word _home_ , “Back before all this, we had an SUV since, y’know, we had Lizzy.”

Courtney listened to Shayne with no shortage of interest. He spoke of the few road-trips he went on with his family, and how it was a better choice of car for that. Then he spoke of how he was never too fond of how they handled. Apparently, he had a Civic handed down from his parents, back before he met Nicole. This new one was a return to form.

She was still blinking the sleepiness back from her eyes when they reached a fairly busy breakfast place in Brooklyn, not far from Ikea. It was a quaint but sizeable restaurant with a predominantly royal blue motif. They opted for outside seating, which was less packed. Their wooden tables were situated close to a heater and they were rather bundled up, so the late-winter chill wasn’t too bad. Max’s food bowl was set down close to the heater. He happily dug in while Courtney and Shayne went through the menus.

“You ever eat here before?” Courtney asked before breaking out into a yawn.

Shayne watched her with a tinge of amusement. He’d been finding humor in her aversion to the early morning in the past half hour they’d been together. She was used to sleeping in on the weekends. Grabbing breakfast and going furniture shopping didn’t make for a regular Saturday.

“Once or twice,” Shayne leaned back into the wood and steel chair. His eyes avoided hers for a beat. Courtney observed him making the conscious effort to break the nervous habit. With melancholia in his eyes, Shayne told her, “Ate here with Nicole and Lizzy.”

“Yeah? What did they usually get?” Courtney asked with a cautious smile. She always found it best to encourage him to talk about them.

“Liz loved the eggs benedict,” Shayne’s answer was nearly instantaneous, “Nicki was a French toast kind of lady.”

Courtney latched onto the nickname she hadn’t heard before. “Nicki? That’s cute.”

Shayne chuckled as he picked the menu back up, “Yeah. She hated when Nicki Minaj got famous because then people started associating the nickname with her.”

She could almost imagine Nicole’s radiant smile turning into an irate frown at the pop star’s rising career. After a moment of consideration, Courtney decided, “I think I’ll trust Nicki’s judgment.”

They placed their orders shortly after, with Shayne settling on a meaty, protein packed breakfast. Conversation came easily for them. Shayne explained that the apartment he got was semi-furnished with the bare basics. A bed, a refrigerator, a closet or two, and little else. He was able to pick up a bookshelf and a safe, but still had a long way to go.

While Shayne wasn’t expecting to host house parties anytime soon, he didn’t want to lead a particularly Spartan lifestyle either. His old house was well decorated and furnished, so it only seemed fitting his new home would be as well. He wanted a desk to fit a computer he had yet to buy. A coffee table for his sparse living room, and a sofa to match it. Standing up just to use the TV was getting old, he said.

After having talked enough about his furniture preferences, Shayne turned the conversation towards her. He asked what she’d been up to the past few months. Courtney filled him in on all the useful hobbies she picked up. The first aid, the practical shooting, Krav Maga, and her beginnings in Judo. Shayne’s little smile grew as he listened intently. There was a sparkle in his eye at the mention of all the hands-on work she was doing.

“I’d offer myself as a training partner, but,” Shayne leaned in out of precaution, voice low, “Other people seeing my face up close is a bit of a risk.”

Courtney wouldn’t mind having Shayne atop her in a full mount to practice her grappling. The problem was that she probably wouldn’t want to escape that position.

She thanked the chilly air for keeping her cheeks pink and warm before her lewd thoughts could. Courtney cleared her throat and shook her head slightly to dash away the images in her mind.

“It’s worked so far, right?” Courtney asked, “Nobody’s suspected anything?”

Courtney observed Shayne holding onto his trigger finger with his other hand. It stopped the digit from tapping its anxious beat. He looked as though he was recalling all the instances of social interaction he’d gone through the past months. Eventually, he answered, “It was part of the reason I kept moving. I never stayed in one city for too long – safer that way. But yeah, my cover’s been intact ever since I got it.”

As relaxed as Shayne appeared, Courtney could still see the leftover paranoia. It was nowhere near as bad as the diner, or back during the days of the trial. His form was generally free of tension. His jaw was unclenched, brow wasn’t furrowed, neck wasn’t stiff, shoulders weren’t tight. Even his bobbing leg and twitchy index finger had mostly calmed down.

What remained were his shifty eyes. When he wasn’t looking at her, he was looking at their surroundings. Always scanning for danger. Always seeking anything out of place. With the life he’d led, Courtney supposed it wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. A little vigilance never hurt anybody.

Once they began to wrap up their pleasant breakfast, Courtney spoke up again. “Hey, do you have a phone?”

Shayne looked up from his plate, a loose piece of bacon dangling from his lips. Sometimes it was hard to believe that this goof was the same man that went on a murderous rampage to avenge his family.

He bit the bacon free and hastily dabbed his mouth with a napkin. Once he was done chewing, he answered, “Yeah. Why?”

Courtney leaned in slightly, eyebrows raised and encouraging him to make the deduction.

“Oh, right,” Shayne chuckled to himself, motioning for her to draw her phone while he did the same. “Forgot to give you my number last night. I’m still not used to the whole,” He gave a sheepish shrug, “Normal stuff.”

“No biggie,” Courtney gave him an easy smile. He read the number aloud, and she saved it under _Brad Russo_. When Shayne’s eyes settled on her still-cracked phone, she explained, “I passed out early last night. I figured I could set my phone up while we’re assembling furniture at your place.”

Shayne’s own eyebrows extended up in surprise at her response. Courtney realized he wasn’t banking on her helping him put the furniture together. He’d expected them to split off after their shopping trip.

“I mean – if you don’t want me to-”

“I’d love your help,” Shayne dashed her worries away with his charming smile. “I _suck_ at following the instructions. Nicki used to say I was a jarhead through and through.” He grinned at the memories.

His smile was contagious. Through her wide beam, Courtney shook her head, “It’s not that hard, dude. The manuals are pretty easy to follow.”

Shayne rolled his eyes and pointed a finger in her direction, “Easy? You’re gonna eat your words, Ms. Miller.”

The confident declaration awoke something in Courtney. A kind of competitiveness that was as fun as it was petty. They were disputing the difficulty of putting together ready-to-assemble furniture for Christ’s sake. She gave into the feeling anyway.

“Oh yeah?” Courtney leaned forward with a defiant tilt of her head. She bit her lip for a second and challenged, “Make me.”

There was a familiar glint in Shayne’s eye. A spirited, playful sort of fire was ignited right back in response to her. Shayne crossed his arms on the table and narrowed his eyes at Courtney. With a lopsided smile, he simply retorted, “I will.”

Courtney tried to ignore the goosebumps that rippled along her skin at the sound of his low voice.

* * *

The dog parking lot, or barking lot, as Courtney named it, was simple but sufficient. Numerous artificial grass turfs were laid out. Secure posts stood ready to accept leashes. Water bowls were filled up and laid out. Heaters emanated warmth in between each pair of turf. A couple dogs were already parked. Some splooted down comfortably, sound asleep. Others watched the guests coming and going, curiosity in their eyes. A trained and certified attendant – a young woman with a bright and cheery demeanor – stopped by each of the dogs to check in and give them a nice helping of pats and belly rubs.

Courtney received a sturdy plastic claim card to pick Max up later. The barking lot was no luxurious hotel for dogs, but it got the job done. It was better that him being cooped up at home. At least here, he got the chance to socialize with the attendant and his neighboring parked dogs.

Ikea wasn’t too busy today. Most folks were out celebrating late Valentine’s dates now that it was the weekend. Not a lot of people went to the Swedish furniture shop for a date. This wasn’t a date either, but that was beside the point.

They went to the living rooms first, after navigating the mess of showrooms and getting lost only twice. When they got there, they found it had far too many tired families lounging on the furniture, feet sore from all the walking. It made eyeing the sofas a little challenging, but Shayne and Courtney made up for it by whispering little jokes back and forth at the expense of the groaning dads and the whiny kids.

The decision eventually came down between a Landskrona and a Färlöv. Both were neutrally colored, able to easily blend in with any sort of furniture collection. They were large enough to fit three to four people and could easily be used for afternoon catnaps. The former had a lower back and a narrower seat. The latter had deep seating, allowing plenty of room to stretch out.

They found themselves debating the merits of the two sofas, referring to them simply as _this_ and _that_. Shayne feared mispronouncing the names would summon some eldritch horror from another dimension. The idea had Courtney in a fit of giggles as they took turns plopping down on the sofas to test them. Eventually, they settled on the Färlöv, and agreed to have it delivered to Shayne’s. This one was shipped as a whole, no assembly needed.

A short way off from the sofas were the coffee tables. That one was an easy pick. They selected a long, dark, sturdy piece that could easily house empty bottles of beer, or their propped-up feet. It was called the Nyboda.

“Nyboda would…” Shayne trailed off.

Courtney watched Shayne struggle to come up with a passable pun. She suppressed her grin as best as she could.

“Nyboda in their right mind would pass up a good table like this.” Shayne spread his arms and awaited her reaction.

“Oh my God,” Courtney scoffed, “It’s no wonder you left comedy to join the Marines.”

It was like Shayne got a bigger kick out of her reaction than anything else. He laughed freely at her disdain. Courtney bit back the smile while scribbling down the Nyboda’s identification code for pickup in the warehouse.

To reach the desks and work areas, they had to pass through the kitchens. They were considerably pricey, but undeniably had a great aesthetic. The kitchen showrooms were prime Instagram-worthy setups. Shayne lingered by one kitchen counter. This showroom had a basic motif that was easy on the eyes. Immaculate white countertops and smooth pine wood filled the scene.

At first, Courtney thought Shayne was distracted by the ceramic bowls and the funky glassware that would break in a week. When he still didn’t rejoin Courtney’s slow pace, she stopped. As she approached Shayne, she gently called out to him with his new identity, “Brad?”

Shayne didn’t acknowledge the name, but Courtney wasn’t too surprised. He probably wasn’t used to being called that. She sidled up next to him instead, placing a hand on his back. “You okay?”

His body tensed for a split second, an involuntary reaction of surprise. Shayne’s head snapped towards her and he let out a breath. “Yeah.”

“Are you sure?”

Shayne’s hand ghosted over the smooth countertop. His eyes were vacantly searching the surface. The dots connected in Courtney’s mind right as he explained, “It’s the exact same counter back in,” He cleared his throat and blinked once or twice to regain focus, “Back in my old house.”

Courtney did recognize the same make and design of the counter. She knew how easily these things could drag memories back to the surface of Shayne’s turbulent mind. Her hand travelled up and down his back as she fixed him with a sympathetic smile.

“You wanna get going to the desks and stuff?” Courtney offered.

Shayne gave an appreciative nod of his head. He took a deep breath and released it in a slow exhale. Then, he chuckled under his breath, “Brad.”

“Hey, we gotta keep your cover up.”

“I know,” Shayne smiled fondly, “It just never stuck when Billy named me, and I still can’t feel it sticking now.”

“Would you rather be called… Färlöv?”

The last of the sadness broke away from Shayne’s eyes as he shot back, “That’s not how it’s pronounced, and you know it.”

“Okay then, you show me how it’s done,” Courtney issued the challenge with a defiant tilt of her head.

“…No.”

The desks had a general look to them. Dark, powder-coated steel bodies with stained or clear lacquered wooden tops. There was beauty to be found in the simplicity of their design. Shayne paced along the rows of desks, occasionally peeking at the storage that the desks provided. There was a Fjällbo, sleeker in design and frame, and an Arkelstorp, larger and offering a wider surface area. Courtney was keener on the former, but Shayne went for the latter. He was (obviously) more familiar with his own apartment, so he knew what suited it more.

The two sat down on one swivel chair each. Both were trendy looking seats that came in a variety of colors. Shayne rolled his chair back and forth, looking like a child as he tested the wheels.

“Does that one go up and down?” Courtney asked. To demonstrate, Courtney tugged on the lever underneath her chair, dropping it a few inches in height.

Shayne felt around the underside of the seat and came up emptyhanded. “Does it matter?”

The guy was used to wearing body armor, toting rifles, and fighting baddies. Ergonomics wasn’t something that people in his line of expertise concerned themselves with. Shayne would likely throw his back out if his desk weren’t setup properly.

“Yeah, try this one,” Courtney stood to lend him the chair. Shayne obliged and switched over to her seat. Courtney pushed him over to a desk a short distance away. The motions were reminiscent of a wheelchair, and Shayne appeared to have the same idea.

“Are we going to the operating room, doctor?” Shayne asked and looked up at her with mock concern.

Courtney huffed out a laugh but reeled it in. With a solemn nod, she told him, “Yes, Mr. Russo.”

“What are they going to do to me, Dr. Miller?”

“They’re going to cut your brain open,” Courtney patted his head once, “Then they’ll find out why you aren’t funny.” She bit her lip to hold back the smile.

“Hey!” Shayne objected. He held back his own smile with crossed arms and a pout. Courtney laughed at him all the way to the desk.

“Quit pouting or you’re not getting ice cream later,” Courtney wagged her finger at him like an overbearing mother.

“Jeez, you sound like Nicki,” Shayne grimaced, and it only made Courtney laugh all the more. They were starting to get looks, but they didn’t care. They weren’t the first couple to act obnoxiously in an Ikea.

Courtney got Shayne into position by the desk and walked him through adjusting the height. Ian had already lectured her before on keeping an ergonomic desk setup. Back straight and neutral, elbows positioned in a particular angle – all of those details. As annoying as they may be to keep in check, they did save her a lot of sitting pain. Such were the woes of spending plenty time sitting and writing.

Shayne was convinced by her spiel, and he listed down the chair’s identification code in the little booklet provided. With the final piece of furniture listed down, they proceeded to the warehouse. There were a few missed turns into the bedrooms and bathrooms before they got their bearings.

“Navigating the Hindu Kush was more straightforward,” Shayne muttered.

Courtney giggled at his exasperation. “Yeah, but the mountains weren’t designed by sadistic Swedes.”

“Sadistic?” Shayne asked with a soft laugh.

“Yeah, that’s how they get ya. They re-lay out the stores each time. That way you get lost and never make it out,” Courtney explained with a straight face, “Then the wizards turn you into furniture.”

It took a few seconds of staring with a neutral, serious expression before Courtney cracked with a fit of laughter. Shayne followed soon after. When he regained his breath, he asked, “The Swedish wizards turn people into furniture?”

“Yeah, haven’t you read Harry Potter?” Courtney shot back, forced to bite her lip to keep her laughter in check.

“I think you read the bootleg Scandinavian version, Hairy Piotr or something.”

They were giggling to themselves like children all the way to the escalators. Her abdomen was sore, and her eyes were bleary from all their mirthful banter. Courtney wasn’t sure when the last time was that she laughed this much and this freely. She liked it. Hell, she loved it. She could go furniture shopping with Shayne every day and it would never get old.

In her lightheaded, happy haze, Courtney’s hands snaked around Shayne’s arm. Her limbs practically moved with a mind of their own. She didn’t think twice about it. Shayne was just such a potent source of her joy that she was sucked into his presence. Courtney wanted more of him.

Shayne never missed a beat. In a baby talking voice, he drawled, “Aw, is someone howding onto me because they’re afwaid to get wost?”

Courtney lightly slapped his bicep as she made a face. “Shut up!”

He cackled at her expense. It was something Courtney quickly learned he enjoyed a little too much. But he made no move to extract his arm from Courtney’s clingy hold. Neither did she, choosing instead to bask in the close contact of his elating presence.

They only split apart when they made it to the warehouse, so Shayne could grab a trolley.

“Your uber’s here,” Shayne motioned for Courtney to hop on.

Courtney was tempted. Because who could say that The Punisher took them on a joyride with a trolley in an Ikea warehouse? It sounded as fun as it was dumb. There was a soft tug at her heartstrings when the thought came over her that this must have been what Shayne was like before. Playful, funny, and easygoing. He must have made the best father and husband imaginable. To think he was sharing that side of himself with her was deeply touching.

She focused on the situation at hand (or rather, Shayne’s dumb, challenging face) to avoid thinking too much and getting emotional. The rational part of Courtney didn’t want to draw anymore unwanted attention. The duo was already getting enough looks from all the laughing they were doing. People probably thought nobody shopping at Ikea could be _that_ happy.

To negate the risk of someone posting a viral video of Shayne accidentally crashing Courtney into a stack of boxes, she refused. “I like my bones unbroken, thanks though.”

“Your loss.” Shayne pushed the trolley forward, hip checking her as he passed. She fumbled a step to the side and glared at his flannel-covered back. Courtney’s smile was impossible to fight back, try as she might. Seeing him so carefree was an intoxicating sight, and she wanted to drink it up until she saw stars.

Courtney fell in step with him, booklet in hand. With the maze of showrooms behind them, they now tackled the much less labyrinthian aisles of boxed parts. Shayne was predictably gentlemanly, almost to a fault. He tried to save her the trouble of loading the larger and longer boxes onto the trolley. There was no doubt that Shayne was built, but even someone as shredded as him wasn’t exempt from the laws of physics. Some of the boxes weren’t balanced or proportional to be lifted by one person.

So, with a fond roll of her eyes, Courtney tagged in. She didn’t squat and deadlift for nothing, after all. Together, they lifted and lowered the boxes with ease. At one point, Shayne shot her an apologetic smile and a mouthed _sorry_ as they worked.

It made Courtney appreciate him all the more. She’d dated her fair share of men with fragile egos. They wouldn’t have reacted well to her assistance because it would make them look weak or some dumb shit like that. Shayne on the other hand was happy for the help. He appeared embarrassed to have turned her down to begin with.

Eventually, the last unwieldly brown box crested their growing pile on the trolley. Courtney and Shayne unwittingly mirrored each other, a hand on the hip, and the other hand tugging at the necklines of their clothes to let the air in. Their breathing was deep, and their skin just slightly flushed from the exertion.

Shayne’s fist came up in invitation, and Courtney had to take a second to register its meaning. She’d nearly forgotten about innocuous things like this. Courtney obliged and pounded back with a fist bump.

“We make a pretty good team,” Shayne said with an air of nonchalance as they approached the counters.

“Really? You’re only now realizing that?” Her voice was partly incredulous and partly teasing.

“I dunno about you, but I think this Ikea trip cemented our partnership.” The matter-of-fact tone he used was as obnoxious as it was endearing.

Courtney’s hand landed on his back as she stepped closer to ask, “What, did the whole trial of the century thing not do it for you?”

“Ma’am, I do believe you’re credit grabbing Keith, Noah, and Olivia’s hard work right now,” Shayne tutted in disapproval. He let out a sharp, quiet exhale when she pinched his skin in retaliation.

“You’re such an asshole.”

With a shit-eating grin, Shayne said, “I know.”

* * *

It was still early in the afternoon by the time they picked Max up and left Ikea. According to the bubbly attendant, he’d been a good boy the entire time, and spent most of his stay there napping. Majority of the smaller boxes fit into the trunk, while the others had to be secured to the backseat with Max. Shayne demonstrated his vast knowledge of knotwork to fasten the boxes down to keep them from bumping into Max. Courtney tried not to wonder what else Shayne could do with some sturdy rope and those skillful hands.

They stopped by a small hole in the wall place for lunch. The supposed difficulty of Ikea’s furniture assembly somehow came back into conversation. It led to them formulating a dumb bet. Shayne would assemble the desk, which would take some time because of the big parts and the sliding drawers. Courtney would assemble the office chair, which had numerous wheels that needed meticulous attention. Whoever finished their piece first would be the winner. The loser would pay for dinner.

Shayne’s apartment was, as he claimed, an actual apartment and not a shithole. Max was already padding around from room to room, exploring the space. The front door opened up to a modestly sized living room. A TV rested atop a small shelf on the far side. It was flanked by a tall bookcase with a slowly growing collection of literature. A small but tall dining table was tucked away to one side, paired with comfy barstools. Like Shayne said, there wasn’t a sofa or a coffee table present, which was part of the reason it was an affordable space to rent. It was pretty un-furnished.

Past the living room was a kitchen. The granite countertops were mostly bare, save for a dishrack, a microwave, a toaster, and a coffeemaker. A bowl of fruit added a splash of color to the grey stone counter and its steel appliances. On top of the refrigerator, Courtney could make out some supplements. Pre-workout, whey protein powder – the works.

The bathroom was spotless and pristine, cleaner than any bathroom she’d ever been in. Hell, she _wished_ her bathroom were this tidy. Shayne even toured her into the bedroom. He had a queen-sized mattress topped by a massive faux fur blanket that inspired House Stark vibes. She moved to hop onto the bed when Shayne grabbed her arm and was quick to warn her.

“Watch your step.”

Courtney looked down at the uneven floorboard she’d nearly tripped over. She let out a chuckle as Shayne released her. “You have a _tripwire_ leading to your bed?”

He laughed and played along, “It’s how burglars can get into my flat, but can’t get in here,” He gestured to the broken board.

“Ahh,” Courtney played up the act of being thoroughly impressed, “You _Home Alone’d_ your house.” She took a seat on the soft bed and nodded in approval.

“Exactly.” Shayne stepped over the tripping hazard to plop down next to her. He lied down on his back and stretched out, releasing a sigh.

Courtney took the time to survey the rest of the room. There was a large closet mirror mounted up on one wall. Tucked to one side of the room was another shelf, which was as sparsely packed as the one in the living room. He had a single end table with a small clock and a lamp resting on the surface.

What was immediately apparent to Courtney was the lack of extra decorations. Memorabilia and dust-gatherers on the shelves. Paintings and pictures on the walls – that sort of stuff. The kind of décor you accrue from having lived away from your parents for a while. The things you bring from home to home if you transfer apartments often. Anything of that sort which Shayne owned was back in his old house.

“So, what do you think?” Shayne had been quiet while she took into her memory every corner and crevice of his new apartment. Courtney craned her neck to look at him. His messy hair stuck out at odd angles. His head was cushioned by his hands joined behind his head. The guy was the very picture of laid back.

Courtney let out a quiet sigh as she leaned down to lie next to him. Shayne made no move to put distance between them. He simply turned his head to look at her from where she lied barely inches away.

“I like it,” Courtney eventually answered, “This place is gonna be home before you know it.”

Shayne was silent at that. When she peeked over to look at him, his brow was furrowed in a gentle frown, appearing deep in thought.

Throughout the day, he had those moments. Shayne was deeply wrapped up in his own mind when he wasn’t speaking with her or laughing at their antics. His eyes were still vigilant, checking for threats whenever they entered a new area. His trigger finger occasionally performed its irregular dancing. Sometimes, Courtney would catch him in those moments. There were always things around him that undoubtedly reminded him of his old life with Nicole and Lizzy. He was easy to read – or at least, Courtney could easily read him.

Some were fleeting thoughts, banished with a blink or two. Others caused him to tense up, a stormy darkness peering into view in his light blue eyes. But to any bystander, Shayne likely just appeared to be a little spacey. Courtney saw more than most. Whether in Ikea or over lunch, Courtney saw those cracks in his carefree mask. She did what she could to gently bring him back from the murkiness of his mind. Shayne had come a long way from the anxious mess he was during that first night in the hospital. But the battle wasn’t over yet, and Courtney was prepared to stay by his side all throughout.

Courtney rolled onto her side, propped up on one elbow with her head in her hand. She hesitated for a beat before she placed a hand on his chest. Her thumb rubbed against the soft fabric of his flannel. The movement got his attention, and his eyes regained focus to look at her.

She mimicked his words in that diner months ago, “This okay?”

With a gulp, Shayne answered, “Of course.”

Courtney watched him for a moment, searching for any sign that he was uncomfortable and only answered to be polite. Yet his body was loose underneath her fingers, and his face was free of tension as he studied her right back.

“What’s on your mind,” Courtney consciously avoided a slip of the tongue, “Bud?”

“Home,” Shayne muttered, “After Nicole and Liz, I…” He let out a quiet huff of air, “I lost home, you know? And I thought…”

Courtney continued rubbing circles against his sturdy chest through the flannel. “Yeah?” She gently prompted him.

“I thought I’d never really find a place to call home again, but…”

“Are you thinking you might be wrong?” Courtney offered with a little smile.

There was a hopeful twinkle of light in Shayne’s blue eyes. He looked at her – really _looked_ at her, like he was peering straight into her very soul. Courtney found some humor in how far they’d come. From his aggressive scowling in the hospital to making her melt with his longing, hopeful eyes.

His answer was a simple one, “I’m thinking maybe I found home after all.”

Before Courtney could begin to pick apart the implications of that, they were suddenly interrupted. Not by a hail of gunfire as was their usual, but by an energetic ball of fur. Max pounced onto the bed out of nowhere. His excessive napping earlier in the day meant his energy reserves were high. They laughed as the overgrown pup wedged himself into the small space between them. His paws pushed against Courtney as he pressed his back against Shayne. He panted and yipped, begging for attention now that his two favorite people were in the same room.

They spent the next half hour playing with Max. All the while, Courtney filled Shayne in on her journey to adopting him, and how behaved he’d been in all the time they’d spent together. There was eventually a ring at the door which signaled the sofa’s arrival. It was their cue to get down to business.

Shayne guided the burly men into his apartment and helped them in setting it down into place. With a generous tip, they were on their way. Shayne was fiddling with his phone when he spoke up and readily reminded her of the stakes, “You ready to pay for dinner, Miller?”

“Eat my ass, Topp.”

Shayne’s face scrunched up at her uncanny ability to go from zero to one hundred in a heartbeat. He muttered a “Jesus,” under his breath, earning a sharp laugh from Courtney. With all the tools set out before them, Shayne pressed a button on his phone then spread his arms out theatrically as a song began to play.

_Long ago in days of yore,_

_It all began with a god named Thor._

_There were Vikings and boats,_

_And some plans for a furniture store._

_It's not a bodega, it's not a mall,_

_And they sell things for apartments smaller than mine,_

_As if there were apartments smaller than mine._

“What the fuck is this?” Courtney’s confusion was only matched by her amusement.

“This is real music, Courtney.” Shayne took a deep breath before joining in with the song, “ _Ikea! Just some oak and some pine and a handful of Norsemen!_ ”

Courtney began rapidly tapping away at her cracked phone in search of the ridiculous lyrics as Shayne continued on, “ _Ikea! Selling furniture for college kids and divorced men!_ ”

She failed to fight back the smile as she joined Shayne in finishing the chorus, “ _Everyone has a home! But if you don’t have a home, you can buy one there!_ ”

The song continued to play in the back as Courtney asked, “ _Where_ did you find this song?”

“Nicki was a big Jon Coulton fan. Lizzy knew this song by heart because we played it whenever putting Ikea stuff together.”

Once they opened up their respective boxes, the song looped. Courtney then realized Shayne had it on repeat until they finished.

“Dude,” Courtney looked at Shayne with wide eyes.

_Billy the bookcase says hello,_

_And so does a table whose name is Ingo!_

“You cannot be serious.” The song was already getting stuck in her head. It would be there for weeks if Shayne kept this up.

_And the chair is a ladder-back birch but his friends call him Karl!_

“Less talkin’, more Ikea makin’! You want that song to end, you finish that chair!” Shayne spoke with the authority of a deranged drill sergeant.

Courtney could only wonder if this was the sort of cruel and unusual punishment Shayne imposed on his Marines back in the service.

The _hours_ ticked by. Jonathan Coulton’s voice was their constant companion throughout it all. Max intermittently sniffed at their work and went to the side to chew on his toy while watching them. Their hands maneuvered the panes of wood or cushioning in position. Their fingers utilized the provided tools to lock screws and bolts into place. Their eyes darted back and forth from the instructions they spread out on the floor, and to their assorted piles of parts. There was such a wide array of emotions they cycled through; it was almost like working through the five stages of grief.

At some points, Shayne looked frustrated enough to toss his phone across the room to get the music to stop. It was either some sort of masochism or discipline that got him to endure the incessant music. He eventually overcame the hurdle he was facing in the build and continued humming along to the song. When Courtney nearly broke one of the wheels due to a missed step, she simply laughed, almost in hysteria, and began singing along with the music.

Other points, they just lapsed into silence, working quietly and neither wanting to pay for dinner. That sort of competitiveness was something they apparently shared, even over something as petty as this. When they had enough of the silence or were working on a part that was easy enough to multitask, they spoke up.

Courtney’s chair was taking shape. The backrest and the seat itself were formed, and she was in the process of installing the wheels. Shayne’s desk was turned onto its side, and he was in the middle of finishing the sliding drawers.

“You said Damien’s callsign was Psychic, right?”

Shayne answered without taking his eyes off the drawers. “Yeah.”

“What was yours?” Courtney asked as she turned a wheel over in her hands.

Shayne gave her a sheepish smile. He licked his lips and let out a soft huff of laughter.

“What’s so funny?”

“Guess,” Shayne told her.

Courtney let out a contemplative hum. Damien got his from his uncanny predictions and guesses. Shayne’s callsign should have something to do with his personality or quirks as a Marine. Alternatively, maybe he got one based on his appearance. She began working on the next wheel as she joked, “Goldilocks?”

Shayne snorted, but shook his head. Courtney tried not to stare too hard at his muscular arms turning a bolt into place. His build and his blonde hair reminded her of the stereotypical Nords from Skyrim. Now that his hair and beard were growing out, all he was missing was a few braids and a big sword – then he’d be ready to fight dragons.

She answered that, even if she knew it was unlikely, “Nord!”

Shayne finally stopped adjusting the bolts to turn and face her with an inquisitive brow raised. “Nord? Like – like in the Elder Scrolls?”

“Mhm,” Courtney hummed and set her key wrench down. “You’re blonde, you’re,” She cleared her throat and hoped her staring wasn’t obvious, “Well-built. Just like in Skyrim.”

“You play Skyrim?” Shayne asked with a tone of disbelief. Courtney didn’t take it personally. This was their first full day together without any danger or mystery hanging overhead. They never really had time to talk of mundane stuff like this before. While Courtney sometimes felt like she’d known Shayne all her life, it was also like she was still just getting to know him whenever they were together.

Courtney proudly told him, “My first character was a Khajiit who got sidetracked by _every_ quest.”

Shayne had a wistful look that matched his fond smile. Courtney could see his mind leafing through his own long gaming sessions. After a moment, Shayne shook his head and got back on track, “We’re talking nerd stuff later, but no, it wasn’t Nord. It was Gerbil.”

It was futile to try and suppress her amused smile. “Gerbil? Why?”

Shayne was wincing as he answered, “The drill sergeants like getting up in people’s faces.” Contrasting the intense image that he was painting, his cringing face was breaking back into amusement, “When it’s your turn to get chewed out, it’s bad. But when it’s someone else – oh my God, those guys are hilarious.”

“I _burped_ while in formation. I tried to swallow it down, so it came out like a squeak.”

Courtney was slipping back into a fit of giggles as Shayne went on. “So, the drill sergeant stomps over to our line, and he’s shouting, _who the fuck was that?! Who the fuck is squeaking in my goddamn unit?!_ ”

“In the Corps, if you mess up, you own it. Otherwise, the whole unit is doing pushups because you kept quiet. After I confessed, he yelled at me, _you call that a fucking squeak, Gerbil? I want to hear your war squeak! You better blow my goddamn socks off, Gerbil! That squeak is going to be the last fucking thing the enemy hears, am I clear?_ ”

“And did you squeak?” Courtney asked in between giggly breaths.

“I shouted _squeak_ as loud as I could until my throat gave out. The guys in my unit were _shaking_ trying not to laugh. A few guys did, and had to do pushups while I was screaming,” Shayne laughed along at the memory and concluded, “Ever since then, it was my nickname at Basic. Once we were deployed, it was my callsign over the radio.”

Their collective laughter eventually evened out, leaving them back in silence save for Jon Coulton’s _Ikea_. They resumed working on the furniture in earnest. They stole glances at each other and their respective progress. Both of them were neck and neck now. The desk and chair were taking shape. More than once, there were petty attempts at sabotage. Shayne flicked her bag of bolts across the room. Courtney held his monkey wrench hostage in her shirt. Shayne cried foul, since there was no way he was wrestling into her shirt to recover the tool. He was forced to retrieve the bolts in exchange for the wrench.

Courtney was in the midst of securing the final wheel when Shayne set his tools down with a loud, “Ha!”

She winced, turning to face the now completed desk. Courtney studied Shayne’s work as she secured her last wheel in place. The legs and the top seemed secure. The second sliding drawer looked off somehow.

“Ready to pay up, Court?” Shayne leaned against the desk with a smug smile.

Courtney straightened up and nudged Shayne to the side so she could check the drawer. The first was fine. The second slid open freely to reveal it was installed upside down. Courtney stepped aside so Shayne could see the result of his handiwork.

“I dunno, man, that drawer doesn’t look right.”

Shayne’s eyes widened in horror. “Fuck!”

With all the mess of sabotage, and distracting stories, he must have secured the slides wrong. You couldn’t just pluck it out, turn it over, and stick it back in. The slides themselves were all upside down.

Courtney laughed at his expense and draped her hands over the chair with no shortage of pride. “The chair’s fine, though. C’mon, try it out.”

Shayne grumbled but obliged and took a seat. He tested the lever and found the chair’s height rise and lower accordingly. His feet pushed off the ground to reveal the wheels were fully functional. Courtney leaned down to get next to his ear and rub in her victory.

“I hope your wallet’s ready.”

Shayne rolled his eyes as he turned his head towards her. Their faces were barely inches away. Shayne looked like he hadn’t expected it either, because he froze, eyes locked onto hers. Courtney glanced once at his lips, which looked far too inviting.

They were so close. All it took was a tilt of the head and the slightest lean. The air around them felt electric. Courtney’s skin prickled with warmth, and her heart beat up into her ears from the anticipation. She’d imagined crashing her lips into Shayne dozens of times by now. The idea prevailed in both the waking world and in her less turbulent dreams. In all the times she’d imagined this, she went all the way. She let her repressed feelings run loose and acted with reckless abandon. Courtney showed Shayne how she felt and never thought twice.

Today, Courtney didn’t close the distance. It wasn’t in her place to do so. She had a good, beautiful thing going on with Shayne. He trusted her and let her in. He allowed her to be part of his life in the _after_. Courtney couldn’t throw her messy feelings in his face and hope for the best. There was no telling if they had a future together of that sort. The last thing Courtney wanted was to ruin things between them because she couldn’t keep her emotions in check.

Shayne’s heart belonged to his family, and Courtney couldn’t ever take that away from him – she didn’t _want_ to take that away from him. She would never even think of getting in between them. He meant too much to her for that. He deserved better than her selfish and emotional whims. Courtney had to be there for him, and that was that. Even if it meant she couldn’t fully express the deep rooted, complex love she was coming to terms with.

It was getting pointless lying to herself about it. There wasn’t another word that could capture the burning desire, the endless concern, and the aching want for him to find peace. What had started out as a more companionable sort of love had evolved and grown into something else entirely.

Courtney didn’t just want Shayne to have an _after_. She _needed_ to be part of it. To hold his hand when things got rough. To help him fend off the oppressive darkness in his mind whenever it crept in. To share in his despair, that it might alleviate him of some of the burden. To take part in the joy and the laughs that he was so full of. To remind him every day if necessary that he wasn’t a monster – that he deserved the peace that life had finally granted him.

If love didn’t capture all of those sentiments, Courtney needed to find a stronger word that would.

She straightened up, away from Shayne’s face. His eyes followed her up. Courtney set her hands on his shoulders and gave a squeeze. “Let’s fix that drawer together. I’ll even let you pick out dinner.”

“I didn’t think you were a merciful winner, Court,” Shayne quipped with an achingly handsome smile.

Courtney brushed it off with a poor attempt at a scoff, “Don’t get used to it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading til the end here! I hope you enjoyed this chapter. It was definitely fun to write Shayne and Courtney just being themselves and joking around without any impending danger. There are lots of moments here I loved to write, from the jokes, to Courtney and Shayne talking in bed, where Courtney unknowingly parallels Nicole in that one dream Shayne had. Stay tuned to see more of these two dorks pining after each other. Have a great day now.


	27. Tequila and Talking Smack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Courtney wraps up her and Shayne's day of furniture building. Shayne gets used to the new normal of his life.

Courtney set her two phones down on Shayne’s dining table. Her data remotely transferred to the new, uncracked phone and would be good to go soon. In the meantime, Jon Coulton’s _Ikea_ continued to blare from Shayne’s phone as Courtney assisted him in fixing the inverted drawer. The task didn’t take particularly long now that their little competition was over. Working together allowed them to progress much faster.

After the desk drawer was fixed, they assembled the coffee table. It was the easiest build by far since all they needed to do was get the legs in place. Their afternoon had been consumed by their respective solo builds. The little table capped off the busy afternoon nicely. Evening was now rolling in, and Courtney rang up Shayne’s favorite Thai place on her new phone. The song continued to play in the background, albeit at a reduced volume. Shayne insisted that the song had to keep looping until they finished, lest they invoke the wrath of the Ikea wizards or Thor himself.

Shortly after the order was placed, Shayne tightened the last bolt and completed the table. Cleaning up was the next order of business. The miscellaneous dust that was kicked up by the cardboard was swept up. Then they hauled all the boxes and garbage downstairs before finally dropping down onto the sofa. Despite the silence, Courtney could still hear the music in the back of her mind.

“Ikea is going to be stuck in my head for like, weeks,” Courtney groaned.

Shayne gave her a wicked smile. It was enough to tell her that was half the point of looping the song for hours. “Could be worse. You could be singing that song under the hot sun while digging weapon emplacements and prepping sandbags.”

“You and your Marines sang that?” Courtney’s incredulous brows raised at the picture he was painting, “During deployment?”

“Well, we sang lots of songs,” Shayne shrugged, “But that was one of the favorites.”

Her soft laughter filled the little space between them. Considering that Shayne had a rep for bringing Spongebob’s opening music over to Afghanistan, this didn’t seem far off.

“So, aside from terrorizing me with that music,” Courtney went on as Shayne let out an amused snort, “What are you keeping busy with?”

Shayne looked the tiniest bit nervous when he admitted, “I signed up for college. A fully online Psychology degree from out of state.”

Courtney’s heart swelled with pride. “Shayne, that’s great!”

Shayne had a bashful smile on his face when he continued, “I figured the university in Arizona would be less likely to ID me as Shayne Topp than one in New York. The whole trial of the century thing didn’t carry just as much hype out of the city.”

“Psychology’s a cool choice.” Courtney nudged his knee with her own. It was an odd little side effect of her enthusiasm for him. She was almost giddy that he found a steady outlet to apply himself to. She was just holding herself back from grabbing the man and shaking him in excitement. “What made you decide on that?”

A wistful look passed over his face for just a moment. “Before that clusterfuck up in the mountains, I was sure I wanted to make a career out of the Marines. At the time, I was what you call a staff noncommissioned officer. I planned to work my way up the ranks and become a commissioned officer, which is years of work. When you reach that sort of ranking, the military sends you to school to earn a degree.”

“You wanted a Psych degree back then?” Courtney guessed.

“Yup,” Shayne nodded, “I figured maybe it would help me be a better leader…” He trailed off to look away, lip bitten in thought. “Then came the fight in the mountains, and then you know the rest.”

Courtney placed a hand on his knee and squeezed. “It’s good you’re still into the idea even if you’re not like, leading combat teams anymore.”

Shayne’s captivating blue eyes came back to look at her. He hummed in agreement, “People are interesting, y’know? How and why they act the way they do – all that stuff.”

“I’m proud of you,” Courtney beamed. “It takes guts jumping into higher education like that.” A part of her was almost jealous. Even an associate degree would be invaluable to her. Especially now that she was doing more writing than acting these days. Courtney added in jest, “And you don’t have to worry about student loans, either.”

Shayne gave a quiet grunt, “Yeah, you can thank Schoonover’s drug money for that.”

Courtney let her curiosity get the better of her. “Does Bradley Russo have a bank account for his stolen drug money?”

“Are you asking for gold digging purposes?” Shayne squinted at her with mock suspicion.

She let out a cross between a laugh and a scoff, “No!”

“Bradley does,” Shayne confirmed, “But I’m keeping most of it as cash in the safe in my closet. I met this guy – some kind of expert forger and hacker. He set me up with the new identity, clean paper trail and all.”

That was probably for the best. Moving large amounts of money through the banks might draw unwanted attention of some kind or another. The need for a bank account was unavoidable, but it was best kept minimal.

Shayne had a soft frown set on his face, looking serious. Without warning, he gave her his safe’s combination. Courtney blinked once, the numbers hardly registering as the confusion set in.

“What?”

“Wait,” Shayne muttered before pushing up to march towards his new desk. The man walked with stiff, purposeful steps – completely unlike his laid-back demeanor moments prior. Shayne penned the numbers down onto the back of the Ikea receipt.

“Dude,” Courtney turned on the couch to better look at him, “Why are you telling me this?”

Shayne folded the receipt and stepped towards his bedroom, “One sec.”

Courtney listened to the sounds of rummaging for a brief moment before Shayne returned. He came to a stop in front of the sofa with his now dead serious face. His hands extended to her the combination to his safe, and the keys to his apartment.

“Shayne-”

“In case you want to come by or,” He shrugged like it was no big deal, “You need to _lay low_ or something, my place is always available. You’re always welcome here.”

Courtney accepted the keys but purposely did not take the receipt. She asked again, “Why the safe combination?”

Shayne ran a hand through his messy hair to sweep it back in order. With a sigh, he told her, “If anything happens to me and you get implicated – if you need the money to get away or start over, you take it. Lieberman’s number and home address are in there too. Tell him The Punisher has another last job and is willing to pay.”

“Shayne, we can’t know it’ll come to that,” Courtney told him as much as she told herself. Saying it out loud made it more real. It made it easier to believe that there wasn’t something waiting to take away the brief peace Shayne was granted.

“There’s a pistol in the first kitchen drawer,” Shayne continued as if he hadn’t heard her, “One in the bedside drawer. Another in the safe. The closet has a false back. There’s some rifles, a shotgun, grenades, C4 plastic explosives, my vest – it’s all in there.”

Courtney’s head was reeling from the information being unloaded. She raised her hands in a gesture to slow down. “Shayne – why-”

“Look,” Shayne sat right next to her, close enough that their knees pressed together. “Bell told me to drop The Punisher mask. Damien keeps calling me chickenshit. Back in Rikers, _you_ told me to stop pushing you away.”

His hand, far gentler than she could ever imagine, took her own. He placed the folded-up receipt in the palm of her hand, curling her fingers around it. Shayne held onto Courtney with both hands as he said, “This is me _not_ pushing you away.”

Shayne’s grip tightened, and a hint of fear wavered in his voice. “Let’s say survivors of the Blacksmith’s crew blew that door open right now,” His eyes darted to the front door and back, “I need to know you can pick up the gun in my kitchen while I hold them off. I need to know you can make it out of here in one piece, _even if I can’t_.”

The complete and utter trust and honesty in his voice wrenched at Courtney’s heart. It rendered her speechless. She wanted to tell him that wouldn’t happen – that they would be fine, and no harm would come to them again now that his bloody life was behind him. But there was no true certainty.

All Courtney could do was tenderly slip her hands free of Shayne’s so she could pull him into a hug. His arms tightened around her instantaneously. His face buried into her hair as he muttered, “Brad Russo is just an idea on paper. There’s always going to be risk. I can mitigate it, but there’s always going to be that small chance this all blows up in my face. If it does, I need to know you’ll be safe.”

Courtney pulled away to get a good look at Shayne’s worried face. She couldn’t guarantee him a future free from harm or danger. Courtney only promised what she could. The words, honest and raw, stumbled out of her mouth, “I promise – whatever comes up,” She pressed her forehead to his in solidarity. Her hands went up to rest on his face, thumbs soothing the anxious crinkles on his skin. “I’m with you. Risk or no risk, I’m here. I told you we’re figuring out this _after_ stuff together, and I meant it.”

They remained like that for a while, eyes shut and heads leaning against one another. They drew each other in with even breaths. A shared comfort in the other’s presence brought peace to their anxious minds. Security in the knowledge that if it all went wrong – if Shayne’s dark past came back to haunt him – they had each other.

Even Max had wedged his head in between them as a show of support when he sensed something was amiss. The silence was eventually broken by the sound of Shayne’s doorbell. They reluctantly split apart. Courtney watched him approach the door with cautious steps. While he handled that, she went about preparing Max’s food.

Dinner was a quiet affair after the unexpected emotional escalation moments prior. It wasn’t particularly uncomfortable, but the tonal shift made it difficult to slip back into normal conversation. This was easily rectified when Courtney accidentally let out a loud burp.

Shayne looked at her with wide eyes as she shrugged it off and continued poking at her food using her chopsticks. Her not-date for the evening wiped his mouth before saying, “Any louder and you might crack the foundations of this place.”

“Bet you can’t beat that.”

Shayne grimaced. “I don’t think I want to.”

“Try!” Courtney urged him.

With a roll of his eyes, Shayne set his chopsticks down and prepared himself. He raised a hand up in signal to wait as he dug deep. Courtney leaned in with anticipation.

Shayne let out an anticlimactic sound that was almost akin to a squeak. Courtney giggled at his expense. “You really are a gerbil.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Shayne waved her off and got back to his food. He had a little smile on his face all the while.

The rest of their dinner passed with easy conversation – Shayne’s upcoming classes, the latest pieces Courtney was writing, Ian and Anthony’s idea to launch a podcast, Leak and Grossman’s controversial cases, Olivia’s upcoming graduation, Matt’s full recovery and badass thumb scar.

After they cleaned up, Courtney volunteered to take a cab home. She didn’t want to overstay her welcome or pressure Shayne into letting her stay any longer than he wanted. Even if all she wanted was to cuddle up next to him in bed, she knew it was best to take things slow. He deserved as much.

Shayne offered to drive her instead, saying nobody should be booking a cab alone at this hour. It was only nine in the evening, but Courtney would accept his excuse if it meant spending a little more time together.

Max was panting contentedly from his position buckled up in the back. Shayne kept his eyes on the busy road ahead. The red shine of brake lights cast a warm glow on the car’s interior. Something about it made Courtney’s heart ache all the more knowing they’d be saying goodbye soon. She resisted the urge to reach across and kiss the hot lumberjack in the driver’s seat. She instead settled her hand over his, which was resting on the gear shift.

Shayne glanced at their hands, then at Courtney. His smile was enough to make her heart melt.

The drive was over too soon by the time they reached her apartment in Hell’s Kitchen. Courtney didn’t hesitate to wrap him up in a tight hug once he set the shift into park. It felt like Shayne was growing more and more accustomed to the contact. His face was back buried in her hair, warm breath tickling her neck. His arms felt like home. She was safe here.

“I had a really good time today,” Courtney’s admission came as a whisper in his ear.

She savored the rumble of a chuckle that emanated from his chest. Just as softly, he told her, “Me too.”

“You make for a pretty decent Valentine’s date after all,” She teased. It elicited another quiet laugh from Shayne.

Courtney closed her eyes to commit the feeling of that amused rumble to memory. She wanted that soft laugh all to herself. All her adoration was condensed into a single kiss to Shayne’s fuzzy cheek. Courtney hoped the darkness was enough to conceal the burning flush in her cheeks but fuck it – who cares if it wasn’t?

“Don’t be a stranger, okay?” Courtney told him.

Shayne gave a sharp nod, “Yes, ma’am.”

That word had come a long way from being an honorific to a term of endearment that made Courtney want to rip Shayne’s flannel off. She wondered, and not for the first time, what it sounded like whispered into her ear in the darkness of her bedroom.

Courtney cleared her throat and took the time to step out. She could fantasize later, but for now she needed to leave before her knees grew weak. Courtney circled around and unstrapped Max from the back, then paused by Shayne’s rolled-down window.

He was biting his lips, as if parsing through his next few words. But in the end, he smiled and simply bid her good night. Courtney returned the sentiment and soon was standing alone at her building’s doorstep with Max. The dog let out a quiet whine as he looked up at her. His tail gave a gentle, cautious sway.

Courtney reached down to rub at the pup’s head. “I know, bud. I miss him already.”

* * *

Life went on for Shayne. As part of his bachelor’s degree, he needed to work through a range of general education classes. Majority of his classes for the first term were comprised of these, and a single measly Introduction to Psychology class. The general classes included Math, Science, History – all of the shit that made him feel like he was back in high school.

It was challenging at first, and a tad demotivating. Most of his peers in the online classes were considerably younger than him, easily only a year or two out of high school. The stock knowledge of general education was still fresh in their minds compared to him. The only advantage Shayne had was in Math, and that was because of all the complex calculations he learned to perform when sniping long range.

In any case, the classes kept him busy during the weekdays. He had a heavier load than most, considering he was doing this fulltime. Most online students were juggling a part time job and studying when they weren’t busy. Nevertheless, being back in a learning environment was a fulfilling and enlightening experience. He motivated himself with the idea of finishing strong so the actual classes for his majors could hurry up and begin already.

At Damien’s insistence, Shayne kept his little social life active as well. Nodding at people in the gym when it was time to work in between their sets didn’t count as socialization, Damien lectured. There were precisely three people – four including Lieberman – that knew Shayne was alive and in New York. He didn’t have a lot of people to spend time with, but he didn’t mind.

He ate dinner with Damien and Alice on Mondays and Wednesdays. On Fridays, he joined Damien for his support group in the function room in St. John’s. To the veterans there, he was Bradley Russo from the Marines. Lieberman had been able to create a plethora of fake documents for his new identity, including a service record. The best lies had traces of truth in them, so Shayne opted to maintain a military record for Brad Russo.

The times he joined, he opted to stay silent more often than not. He was too focused on reading the rest of the room. Some of the vets occasionally looked at him a second too long. Like they were trying to place the face underneath the long hair and the scruffy beard. If they recognized him, they didn’t say anything. There was a certain respect that most of the vets had for The Punisher – a stronger sense of sympathy than the layman possessed. Damien assured Shayne he could trust the people here.

There was however, the one person that definitely _did_ recognize Shayne. Lewis Wilson from the 1st Infantry Division was here – the cab driver with short red hair that brought him to Tepper’s address months ago.

During Shayne’s first session in the circular formation of chairs, Damien told a story. Shayne sat a few seats away, head bowed, just in case. The fluorescent lights above felt too revealing for Shayne’s taste, but he sucked it up. Wilson sat across the circle from Shayne. His leg bobbed with a poorly concealed anxiety. Shayne didn’t miss the frequent glances Wilson sent his way, like he was trying to confirm that it was The Punisher sitting before him.

Damien told the story of a soldier stuck in a hole. An NCO would stop by, tell him to suck it up. An officer would follow up, tell him to use his tools. The soldier would keep digging but was no less stuck. A psychiatrist would stop by too and give medication to forget about the hole. They worked for a time, until the drugs ran out and the soldier was just as stuck. Eventually, another filthy soldier heard the first’s cries for help. He hopped right into the hole with him. The first soldier started to panic, now that they were both stuck in the hole. The newcomer would just smile and tell him to relax. He’d been in a hole before too. He knew how to get out.

Damien allowed the story to sink in for a moment, eyes passing over all the men and women gathered in the circle. Without words, he easily conveyed to all present – he was here for them; he would help them get out.

“I see we got a couple new faces today,” Damien obnoxiously looked over at Shayne, then a few others. Shayne busied himself with the cup of coffee in his hands. “If you wanna talk, talk. If you just wanna listen, that’s fine by us. We’re just brothers and sisters who understand.”

Shayne watched with amusement when it didn’t take long for squabbling to get started. He’d heard of this troublemaker before.

O’Connor was a heavyset, middle aged man with a cap bearing the NRA – National Rifle Association – logo on it. He began what sounded like a practiced tirade, “The only thing we gotta understand is that the real persecuted minority in this country today is the Christian American Patriot.”

Shayne’s eyes widened a smidge at the man’s complete lack of ability to read the room, and the numerous black and Latino veterans gathered with them. It was like he was asking for a fight. It didn’t take long for someone to groan in response.

Thanks to Damien’s stories, Shayne recognized the tall, sturdy, dark skinned man as Isaac. Finishing his groan, he complained, “Here we go again with the same old bullshit.”

There were a few scattered chuckles. O’Connor scoffed, “You’re blind, asshole. Don’t rag on me because _I_ can see.”

“Kiss my ass,” Isaac frowned.

With a little hesitation, Damien settled on being the neutral arbiter. “Isaac, let him finish his piece,” With a lopsided smile, he added, “The same way we let you finish when you give us a blow-by-blow account of your week’s strip club action.”

“Blow by blow is right,” Another man muttered, sending a soft round of laughter around the circle.

O’Connor didn’t let the pause go to waste. He gesticulated as he spoke, his face a series of hard lines. Shayne observed how Wilson appeared to listen intently.

“We’ve got to do something about the liberal do-gooding assholes running this country into the ground,” He growled, “The ones trying to take our rights, and our guns!”

Shayne fidgeted with his cup of coffee and wondered at what point this exercise was supposed to help overcome trauma. Damien looked around the circle and prompted, “Anyone else have a take on that?”

Wilson spoke up. His tired eyes focused on his hands, fiddling around his own coffee. He spoke in a quiet voice, almost like a child that had been reprimanded. “All I know is that I fought for my country and now it’s got no place for me.” The infantryman paused, and unclenched his jaw to add, “I don’t know what the rules are anymore, y’know?”

O’Connor dug into Wilson’s uncertainty, “They’re scared, man. Because they ain’t stupid. They spent fifteen years training an army then abandoned it on the streets.”

Shayne observed Damien refraining from rolling his eyes into the back of his skull as O’Connor went on in his rant, “A time is gonna come when we have to defend ourselves and – and put things back to how they were. If you love this country, you better be ready. The next war’s gonna be here,” He leaned forward in his seat, eyes moving over those gathered, “Blood will flow in the streets.”

Wilson added in a mutter, “Sic semper tyrannis.”

Shayne recognized the Latin adage – thus always to tyrants. The notion that tyrants would always get what was coming to them.

Damien was familiar with it as well. He asked, “You think our government are tyrants, Lewis?”

In that lost, nervous manner of his, the young veteran shifted in his seat. He eventually replied, “All I know is we risked our lives and did horrible things. When we got home, it meant nothing.”

The grounded answer had a silence settle over the group. It wasn’t an unnecessarily political statement, or even a farfetched one. It was a sentiment that many of the men and women here shared. Nobody – at least nobody that genuinely cared about service – signed up to get recognition back stateside. But after all that was endured overseas, the veterans’ assistance programs left much to be desired. Getting a veteran’s discount at Denny’s didn’t exactly make up for losing a leg. Shayne knew Damien of all people could sympathize with that.

When it became apparent that nobody intended to rebut or add to Wilson’s thoughts, Damien shifted the line of discussion. The other veterans got a chance to speak up. Whether about the good times on base with their friends, or the horrors they suffered, they got their chance. There was a feeling of solidarity and kinship in the knowledge that they weren’t alone. That there were others who’d suffered in war as they had. While the worst moments of Shayne’s life happened back home, listening to their stories still helped. Shayne could see the appeal to the group therapy. If only O’Connor could shut his gob more often.

When they wrapped up, the other veterans assisted in folding up the steel chairs. As Shayne returned the chairs off to one side, he noticed Damien speaking to Wilson before O’Connor got the chance to. He settled a hand on the younger soldier’s shoulder in a brotherly manner. Damien checked in, asking how he was doing nowadays. Wilson was sleeping better but also working more.

Before Shayne could eavesdrop any longer, O’Connor came to a stop in front of him.

“So, a hipster like you was in the service, huh?”

Shayne felt a twitch by his eye as he scoffed in response, “I’m not a hipster.”

“Oh yeah?” O’Connor asked, “What were you?”

“Marine.” Shayne left it at that.

O’Connor drew a calling card from his breast pocket and extended it, “You should join the good fight, Marine.”

Shayne glared at the NRA card before him. The organization had enough controversy and critics to last them a lifetime. As much as Shayne supported the right to bear arms (he was a Marine, after all), he also understood the complexity and necessity of a degree of gun control. There were dichotomies and grey areas in all facets of life – gun ownership was no exception. Shayne didn’t need to get mixed up with the pot-stirring lobbyists. He had enough things to worry about on his own.

Shayne shook his head to refuse the card. “I don’t need that, O’Connor.”

“Inaction makes you as bad as the libs, Marine.” O’Connor slid the card back into his pocket and began to step away. “You’d do well to remember they don’t care about vets.”

Shayne let out a disinterested hum and waved him off, “Yeah, yeah, I’ll remember that.”

As O’Connor disappeared out the exit, Shayne took note of Wilson bidding Damien goodbye with an easy, “Take care, doc.”

It was a simple honorific that Marines and Army men gave to their medics and corpsmen. Shayne noticed a handful of the vets here addressed Damien as such. Anyone who served had a high level of respect for the brave souls that put themselves in harm’s way to patch up their allies.

Wilson nearly bumped into Shayne, as the former’s head was turned towards Damien while he walked. Shayne stepped to the side, giving the younger man a curt nod. Wilson’s eyes appeared bloodshot up close. He may have reported to be sleeping better, but Shayne guessed it was still much less sleep than he needed. If nightmares were the cause, Shayne could relate all too well. Even with the comforting thoughts of Courtney’s steadfast presence, he often woke up a couple of times in the middle of the night.

“You, uh – you doing okay, sir?” Wilson asked.

The idea of someone like O’Connor influencing a young and troubled mind like Wilson irked Shayne. It was what pushed Shayne to quietly say, “It’s Bradley Russo now,” He extended his hand forward.

Wilson shook his hand with a firm grip. He blinked a few times, registering the information. Shayne added, “You need anyone to talk to, you can always count on me or doc over there, got it?”

“Got it,” The younger man nodded, “Have a good evening, Mr. Russo.”

“You too, Lewis.”

He was on his way, not seeming like one to chat much. Once Damien and he were alone in the church’s function room, Damien noted, “Lewis… knows?”

“He drove me to Tepper’s,” Shayne explained, “That day the colonel’s men shot up your house.”

At Damien’s contemplative hum, Shayne felt it was necessary to clarify, “He recognized me but promised he wouldn’t breathe a word of it to anyone.”

“Not sure if The Punisher is much of a good influence on Lewis, but better you than Mr. NRA.”

Shayne blew out a long sigh.

“That O’Connor guy’s a piece of work, huh?”

“Tell me about it,” Damien groaned. He was quick to change the topic. Damien probably wasn’t fond of thinking of the man any longer than absolutely necessary. Shayne didn’t blame him. “Where you off to tonight? Are you seeing Courtney again?”

Shayne avoided Damien’s gaze in favor of staring at his mostly empty cup of coffee. He hadn’t seen Courtney since the last weekend when they had dinner in his apartment. Even with the keys to her home, he was worried of intruding. He didn’t want to stick to her like a clingy puppy. There was no need to suffocate her. Shayne may have laid it bare that he wasn’t pushing her away, but that didn’t mean he wanted to overwhelm her.

“You’re being chickenshit again aren’t you?” Nothing escaped Damien’s watchful gaze, apparently. When Shayne didn’t have an immediate comeback, Damien added, “Go see her.”

“I don’t wanna make her uncomfortable,” Shayne reasoned with a halfhearted shrug.

“Dude,” Damien took a few steps closer. His paces were uneven, and Shayne was painfully reminded of Damien’s prosthetic. Not a day went by when he didn’t feel a pang of guilt at the thought of it. “Remember my story about the hole?”

“Yeah.”

“Courtney may not be a filthy Marine, but she sure as hell jumped into that hole with you,” Damien clapped Shayne on the shoulder, “And she sure as hell brought a ladder with her.”

“Dames-”

“Go to her. Don’t be a wallowing asshole,” Damien ignored his amused scoff to add, “Don’t make me take this fake leg off and beat you to death with it.”

It startled a soft laugh out of Shayne. Damien joined in and gave him a gentle push towards the door, “Just imagine your tombstone – Shayne Topp lost an ass-kicking contest to a one-legged man.”

When his laughter died down to a quiet chuckle, Shayne conceded, “Okay, keep your leg on. I’m going.”

That was how Shayne found himself at Courtney’s door in the late afternoon. She became part of his routine moving forward. On the Fridays after group, Shayne met Courtney for dinner. Usually at her place, but once or twice in his own apartment. Together, they cracked open a beer or two and had a quiet night with Max.

Physical contact was strange ground for them. They’d been holding each other’s hands as a gesture of comfort since the hospital. They shared heartfelt embraces, whether as a show of support or in greeting. There were even the occasional pecks on the cheek. It was easy for both of them. Almost casual with how smoothly they transitioned to the closer and closer contact.

Yet Shayne still felt dumbstruck when the vague images from his half-conscious mind made it into reality. It was always a little surreal being in her apartment after he’d imagined it so many times before. It reached peek-uncanniness on the third or fourth time they spent a Friday night together.

They were both stuffed with Chinese takeout. Shayne sat on one end of the sofa, feet propped up on the coffee table as one Netflix documentary or another played in the background. It was their preferred genre for when Courtney was being a workaholic. They properly binged shows together when her attention was undivided. Tonight, Courtney was wrestling with this script she was writing for Smosh. She sat on the other end of the sofa, cradling her laptop as she frowned at it. Max was sprawled out on the floor, snoring softly.

After the tenth time Courtney backspaced an entire paragraph, she let out a frustrated sigh. Her legs unfolded from underneath her. She stretched out until her feet bumped against Shayne’s legs before settling onto his lap.

Shayne blinked once or twice to work through the sense of déjà vu. He looked at the half-consumed bottle of beer he swirled in one hand. Seeing no other course of action, he set his free hand down on her leg. He ran his thumb against her smooth skin and gave a sympathetic smile.

“Need help?” Shayne offered.

Courtney leaned further into the sofa with her eyes shut. After blowing a raspberry out through her lips, she answered, “You probably have enough on your mind now that you’re studying again.”

“Try me.”

Shayne drew aimless patterns against her skin as they talked. Courtney pitched her ideas out, bouncing them off of Shayne. With their combined creative minds, Courtney broke through her writer’s block. Within the hour, her first draft was complete, and she finally set her laptop aside for the night. Courtney remained in her position, only stretching to get a little more comfortable.

Courtney had an award-winning smile on her face when she spoke up. “Glad that’s over with. What would I do without you?”

Shayne asked himself that about Courtney more often than not. He answered the rhetorical question anyway, “You’d probably get into way less prison fights and shootings.”

She snorted and dismissed him with the wave of her hand. “I get into enough trouble on my own, don’t you worry.”

It wasn’t a reply Shayne expected. All the messes Courtney had gotten into that he knew of were tied to him. Though Shayne did recall Courtney’s vague mention that the Metro-General chase wasn’t her first scuffle. He didn’t push her about it then, and he didn’t now. He instead settled on enjoying the rest of the time they had together for the evening.

* * *

The weeks went by. Shayne kept busy both with his studies and the gym. He regularly attended group with Damien. Sometimes, he spoke and opened up a little. Most times, he just listened. O’Connor was consistent in being an annoying prick. After the sessions ended, Shayne often tried to get a word in with Lewis alongside Damien. They learned he’d been diagnosed with PTSD, which appeared to fit the bill. He never lingered for too long, but they did their best to impart Lewis with a little encouragement and hope to get him through his internal battles.

One evening, they were able to coax Lewis into grabbing a few beers with them. The young man agreed on the condition that he got to pick the place. They wound up in a dive bar in Hell’s Kitchen named Josie’s. The lighting was dim and flickering, the counters were slimy, the floor was sticky, and the faint smell of mold reminded Shayne of his cell in Rikers. Even the clientele reminded Shayne of prison. Burly men filled the space, looking decidedly thuggish. There were even a handful of bikers, but definitely not Dogs of Hell. Shayne made sure of that.

“What on earth did we do to you to deserve being brought to this shithole?” Shayne asked what Damien was likely thinking as well. Lewis just gave them an amused smile that made him look like the young man he was, and not the troubled and traumatized veteran he’d become. They got seats by one corner, then Damien and Lewis headed to the bar to get drinks. Shayne took that time to shoot Courtney a message.

**Bradley:** Hey, Damien and I are taking this one vet out for drinks.

**Courtney:** Are you ditching me tonight? :(

Shayne felt a pang of guilt in his chest. He was hurriedly typing a reply when her next message came in.

**Courtney:** Jk. Try not to have too much fun without me~

**Bradley:** Make it up to you tomorrow?

They hadn’t spent a Saturday together since their trip to Ikea. Again, it was mostly out of Shayne worrying he might overwhelm her. Courtney was as patient as ever and was always happy to have him over. He was probably getting all worked up over nothing.

**Courtney:** Just don’t show up too early or you’re eating my .380.

**Bradley:** Yes ma’am.

Damien and Lewis returned with three beers. The bottles were set down on the sticky table with a loud _thunk_. Damien clapped his hands together and grinned at his companions. “So, how are my two young and eligible bachelors doing?”

“Bachelors,” Shayne snorted with a smile. He slid Lewis one bottle before taking one for himself.

“Unless you got a girlfriend you haven’t told us about, Lewis?” Damien pointed a mock accusatory finger at the younger man.

Lewis shook his head with pursed lips. “Afraid not, doc.”

“We should change that. I’m sure there’s a nice lady somewhere here…” Shayne craned his head to look at the assortment of thugs and possible criminals loitering in the bar. “Okay, I stand corrected.”

The two men laughed at Shayne’s discomfort. Lewis explained, “I like it here because people don’t bother me. They mind their own business.”

“Wrong move letting us get all up in your business here then, hm?” Damien nudged Lewis, who cracked a small smile.

“You guys don’t look at me like I’m broken or crazy, so I don’t mind.”

Shayne’s inner Courtney prompted him to reassure the young infantryman. “You’re neither of those things. You’ve just been through a rough couple patches.”

Damien tapped his prosthetic right leg once as he agreed, “Brad and I both know how tough those patches can be.”

With an appreciative smile, Lewis raised his bottle forward. “What are we drinking to tonight, gentlemen?”

It didn’t take long for Damien to put forward, “The future.”

Soulful green eyes and a halo of blonde hair were fixed in Shayne’s mind as he added, “An after.”

Lewis accepted the notions and finished, “Better tomorrow.”

Their bottles clinked together, and they chatted away. Damien spoke of the rapidly approaching date of his wedding. Shayne shared the monotony of relearning algebra and calculus. Lewis relayed stories of the more peculiar people he shuttled around in his cab.

Lewis leaned in with a shit-eating grin, “I even drove for The Punisher once – crazy, huh?”

Shayne huffed a laugh out and tossed a balled-up tissue at Lewis, who swatted it away with a chuckle. Shayne was happy to see the kid goofing off and being less broody. A night out with good company was no miracle cure for the PTSD, but it helped just the same. Fighting with inner demons was as horrific as any enemy Shayne faced overseas or back stateside. He only wished Lewis had his own lighthouse to guide him through the storm. Until he found one, Shayne hoped he and Damien could help him work through his tumultuous mind.

By the time they were through their second round, half the bar shifted their attention to a group of newcomers.

“Hey, Harvard’s back!” A voice towards the pool tables called.

“Columbia!” The familiar voice of Keith Leak Jr. corrected him.

Shayne paled as the trio of Keith, Noah, and Olivia strode into the bar. They greeted numerous patrons like old friends. Olivia in particular was doling fist bumps out left and right. They looked like they were celebrating.

It didn’t take long for Damien and Lewis to notice something was wrong. Lewis craned his head towards the entrance. Damien leaned in towards Shayne, who was hunched over and trying to look small. “What’s up?”

“Those are my lawyers.”

Damien joined Lewis in looking at the newcomers. The recognition crossed Damien’s face and they both turned back to Shayne. Lewis gave a half-shrug as he said, “I think you’re in the clear, Mr. Russo.”

“Hope so,” Shayne muttered. He watched as the trio hopped up on stools right at the bar counter. They greeted the bar’s matron, Josie, warmly. Shayne drew his phone from his pocket as Damien and Lewis slipped back into conversation.

**Bradley:** Do Leak and Grossman have something to celebrate?

The reply came in swiftly.

**Courtney:** Liv just graduated. We already had a party, but knowing Liv, she probably has another one lined up. Why?

Shayne glanced over at the trio as a bottle of tequila was proudly presented to them. They let out a cheer, and Olivia declared that all the regulars were getting shots.

**Bradley:** They’re about to get hammered in the bar we’re at.

**Courtney:** Josie’s?

**Bradley:** You’ve been here?

**Courtney:** Not my first choice of bar, but it’s a favorite of theirs.

Judging by how the alcohol was freely flowing from the trio to a number of the people gathered, it checked out.

**Bradley:** I’ll try to keep my head down then.

**Courtney:** Say hi for me if they spot you.

The excessive laughing emojis that topped off Courtney’s text didn’t do much to ease the worry in Shayne’s gut. Their third round was on Lewis. Almost as if inspired by the lawyers, he procured a bottle of mezcal with a tequila worm floating within. It made ignoring the risk of getting caught a little more bearable. It’s not like being spotted by them was _that_ bad, but like he discussed with Courtney – the less they knew, the better.

Unfortunately, it had been a _long_ time since Shayne indulged in heavy drinking of this sort. By the time the bottle ran dry and the alcohol-soaked worm was limp at the bottom, they were shitfaced. Or more accurately, Lewis was swaying where he sat, Damien was giggling by himself, and Shayne needed to puke.

He stumbled off to the restroom and to the closest stall. As Shayne expected, the bathroom was as dingy as the rest of the dive bar. He tried not to think about what was sticking to his jeans as he hunched over one toilet and let loose. The nausea stirring within him improved as a result of the purge. His head continued to hammer, and the stall was spinning in his vision. Given that, Shayne flushed the toilet and decided to wait a minute or two before getting up.

Through the pounding in his ears, he heard the man in the neighboring stall curse. Then, a knocking came from the wall. Shayne’s sluggish head turned towards the source and let out a grunt in question.

“You doin’ okay in there, brother?” Keith’s voice asked with a drunken twang.

Shayne shut his eyes tight and tried not to fuck this up.

Lowering his voice by a few octaves, Shayne slurred out. “Yeah, man.”

Keith appeared none the wiser, because he went on to ask, “Ya got a spare roll of toilet paper in there?”

Shayne’s throbbing head loosely swiveled around the filthy cubicle. His bleary eyes eventually made out the vague shape of toilet paper on top of the tank. Shayne grabbed it with clumsy hands and extended it under the stall divider.

“Here y’go,” Shayne muttered.

With a soft laugh, Keith accepted it. “My man! Thank you, stranger.”

“No problem, counselor.”

Shayne’s eyes widened, and he felt the inebriation subside by a degree.

“Fuck.”

“What the – Shayne?”

The door leading back to the bar audibly swung open and hit the wall with a thud. Staggering footsteps entered the bathroom, and Noah’s voice called out, “Hey, Keith! You in here, bud? Olivia ate the worm!”

“The tequila worm?!” Keith asked.

Shayne snorted with amusement as he rested his head on his arms crossed over the toilet bowl.

“Hey,” Noah grunted in a manner that indicated he was as sloshed as Keith. Three thuds against the stall door meant Noah put either of his hands on the surface before bumping his head against it. “What’re you laughin’ at, bub?” As soon as the question left his lips, he let out a light laugh of his own – like he only now found the humor as well.

“Noah, that’s Shayne,” Keith whispered _loudly_.

“Oh my God,” Noah knocked on the stall again, “Shayne?”

“Yeah, yeah – just let yourself in,” Shayne groaned into the toilet. Noah did just that since this pitiful bar lacked door locks for the cubicles.

“Holy shit,” Noah’s voice mumbled to himself. Shayne felt a pair of hands on his shoulders pulling him up – enough to free his face from the toilet.

“What happened to you? You look like a hipster,” Noah sounded more offended by his hair and beard than the smell of vomit permeating the stall.

“Not a hipster,” Shayne mumbled.

“I gotta get Olivia,” Noah practically dropped Shayne’s head back into the toilet as he staggered away.

“But this is a… this is the men’s room,” Shayne’s objection fell on deaf ears as Noah shambled out the door. Meanwhile, Keith was giggling in the neighboring cubicle at the whole exchange. It didn’t take long for the door to open once more, then shut with the sharp click of a lock. At least _one_ of these doors had a lock.

“Where is he,” Olivia’s intoxicated voice murmured out, “Lemme at him.”

As if on cue, Keith’s stall opened as he finished up. Shayne listened to the sound of running water from his cozy spot in the cubicle. Sharp heels clacked against the grimy bathroom floor and stopped behind him. Shayne raised his head, pushing off the toilet to look at the trio crowding his cubicle.

“Shaaaayne!” Olivia spread her arms out and stepped into the cramped space. She bent down to hug his filthy self, only to slip on the grubby tiles. Olivia landed on Shayne, forehead crashing into his face.

Shayne recoiled with a sharp grunt of pain. Olivia fumbled backwards to the opposite end of the cubicle and clutched her forehead.

Keith and Noah were giggling at their expense, with the former pointing at Shayne’s eye. He figured it was time to abandon his stall. The two lawyers helped him up, then did the same for Olivia. Now back on unsteady feet, Olivia wrapped Shayne up in a bear hug with strength surprising for someone of her size.

They hobbled over into the open area by the sinks, and Shayne was able to survey the damage. He grimaced at his new black eye from Olivia’s solid headbutt. Unlike him, Olivia got out of it unscathed, save for a small red bump on her forehead.

A rough knocking on the bathroom door got their attention. “Hey, why is this locked?”

“This is the women’s room, jackass!” Olivia shouted.

There was a confused pause behind the door, followed by a quiet, “Oh… Sorry, lady.”

Shayne pried himself free from Olivia’s tight hold. He found a wall to lean against, then allowed his head to loll back. The trio looked at him almost expectantly as they swayed in place.

“Courtney says hi,” Shayne broke the silence.

“Oh my God,” Noah placed his face in his hands as the clarity washed over him.

“Should’ve known our girl Court knew you were back.” Keith slurred out what his partner was thinking.

Before Olivia could get a word in, there was another firm knock on the door. This time, Damien’s voice called through, “Hey – Brad, you okay? You need me to mess someone up?”

“We’re having a consultation!” Shayne yelled back.

Damien was silent for a beat before he accepted the answer, “Well… okay.”

Shayne didn’t expect them to be so curious about his new identity, but he obliged. After all the help they gave him, he owed them the truth if it was what they wanted. Over the weeks, Courtney did talk about Keith, Noah, and Olivia. The three agreed to act as though Courtney never revealed his survival to them. That way they were kept clear of the legal minefield if the truth came out. Shayne wasn’t sure what changed. Maybe it was just that a lot of time had passed now since the trial. The Punisher was old news. The risk of blowback on their firm was greatly diminished.

Shayne shied away from detailing his bloody crusade. Instead, he went over his road trip back to New York, and then brought them up to speed on his new identity as Bradley Russo. They listened intently and hung onto every word he said.

By the time they split off, they’d spent half an hour in the dingy bathroom. They didn’t ask for Shayne’s new number, just in case. They even begrudgingly agreed to keep their distance to err on the side of caution. Yet Shayne couldn’t deny how nice it was to see familiar, friendly faces.

He’d grown to really like his legal team, and he knew the feeling was mutual. Both parties eventually relented and figured it couldn’t hurt too bad to meet once in a while to catch up and check in – preferably in a private place. It showed they’d somehow grown to care about him as more than just a client. Shayne counted himself lucky that they didn’t just turn him in to the police. It must have been _the Courtney Effect_ working its wonders on them.

The rest of the night was a blur. There were a few scattered moments that stood out. Shayne did an impression of O’Connor. Damien dared Lewis to eat the tequila worm. Lewis did, and it forced Damien to buy the next round of drinks.

* * *

The next thing Shayne knew, he was back in his bedroom. The sun was peeking in through his blinds. His head was pounding with a fury. His stomach was turning like a torrential storm. His teeth felt raw from all the puking. His throat was parched and scratchy from a clear lack of hydration. Shayne grumbled as he rolled onto his side.

There was a glass of water and some aspirin waiting for him. Shayne blinked a few more times to make sure he wasn’t seeing things. As consciousness was firmly taking hold of his hungover self, he was starting to make out the smell of coffee.

A figure appeared at his doorway, and Shayne started to wonder if he was dreaming. Courtney leaned against the doorframe, mug of coffee in hand. Her hair was tied up in a cute bun, and she wore a little smile on her face.

“Morning, sleepyhead.” The words sent a familiar wave of butterflies through his chest. Courtney entered the room with slow steps, contrasting Max, who bounded towards the bed with excitement.

“Am I dreaming?” Shayne asked out loud. His voice was hoarse from disuse and dehydration. Max reached up to lap at Shayne’s face. He stopped to sniff him once, snort, then start licking again.

Courtney let out an amused huff. Her own face scrunched up in confusion as she shook her head. “No. I don’t think so.”

Shayne looked at his bedside clock and rubbed at Max’s head. It was already eleven in the morning. He hadn’t slept in this late in literal _years_.

“I got kinda worried, so I let myself in a couple hours ago,” Courtney explained with a nonchalant shrug. “Hope you don’t mind, I bummed off your Hulu account for a bit.”

He looked over at the glass of water and aspirin nicely laid out for him. When Shayne looked back at her, she nodded in confirmation. It sent another little flutter up his chest.

He did not deserve Courtney Miller.

Shayne found himself asking, “Why were you worried?”

Courtney cracked a smile as she pulled her phone free from her back pocket. The mattress shifted as she eased down onto the edge of his bed. Shayne reached for her cup of coffee. She kept it out of arm’s reach and stuck her tongue out at him.

“Drink your water, then you get some coffee.”

The movement appeared to cue Max to trot over to the other side of the bed and hop on. He lied on his back and cozied up next to them both.

Shayne complied with Courtney’s bargain. He sat up and then downed the aspirin with a few big gulps of water. It was only then Shayne realized he was still wearing his smelly clothes from last night. He was hardly presentable. Courtney appeared to pay that no mind as she extended her phone to show him a collection of messages that he sent around midnight.

**Brad:** miss u babeee

**Courtney:** How wasted are you?

**Brad:** kinda

**Courtney:** You need a ride home?

**Brad:** need u

There was a selfie Courtney sent in reply of her very confused and distressed face. Shayne followed it up with a group picture with Damien and Lewis, who were then equally sloshed. It was blurry, thanks to Shayne’s shaky hands. The photo captured Lewis mid-puke right on Damien’s shirt.

Shayne’s face burned a bright red at the sight of the messages. He lied back down and put his face in his hands before letting out a long groan. Max took that as his signal to resume licking Shayne.

“Please tell me those are the last messages.” He muttered as he blindly petted Max from the privacy of his hands.

Courtney giggled, but confirmed, “They were. But…”

Oh no.

“You did call me at around one.”

Shayne bit the bullet. “What did I say?”

Hiding behind his hands, he couldn’t see Courtney’s expression when she relayed, “You’re real sweet when you’re drunk.”

“Jesus…” Shayne muttered, “I’m sorry, Court.”

“No,” Courtney plucked his hands free from his face. She smiled wide as she told him, “It’s okay, really. You just kept saying you missed me. No biggie.”

Shayne struggled to look her in the eye as his whole face still prickled with heat. Instead, he sat back up and drank the rest of the water Courtney prepared for him.

“When you didn’t answer my calls in the morning, I figured you were hungover,” Courtney explained, “Thought maybe you might need a hand.”

Courtney looked so at home sitting on the edge of his bed. It was like she belonged here.

Shayne pushed back the thoughts in the hope of steadying his rapidly beating heart. “I appreciate it.”

He watched Courtney bite her soft bottom lip for a beat before she asked, “Did you get into a fight?”

“I… don’t think I did,” Shayne frowned, “Damien and Lewis would’ve held me back.”

“What happened there?” Courtney motioned towards his face. When it was clear Shayne wasn’t sure what she was talking about, Courtney raised her phone’s front camera up to him. A big blue and purple bruise was forming under his left eye.

Shayne laughed at the sight of it and at who had caused it. He relayed last night’s events to Courtney – or rather, what he remembered from last night. She confirmed that his legal team had more than a little sympathy for him. It didn’t surprise Courtney too much that they were willing to keep his survival on the down low, and even keep in touch a little.

He hit the shower after that since he still felt like crap. Courtney took the time to order lunch in and prepare him a cup of coffee. By the time he was done cleaning up, he felt human again. Since his head was still pounding, they spent most of the day on his Färlöv. They sat shoulder to shoulder on the couch, watching whatever caught their fancy, but often getting distracted and chatting about one thing or another.

They walked Max later in the afternoon when Shayne no longer felt like he might melt in the sun. There was a park not too far which made for a nice spot to kill time. They played fetch with Max until Shayne’s hangover caught up to him and he needed to sit down. He watched as Courtney continued to go at it with Max, both still so full of energy. He would take them out here again when he wasn’t so winded.

A part of him felt that subtle melancholia creep in while watching Courtney and Max. Lounging in a park was too reminiscent of those days long ago. Back when things weren’t so complicated. Nicole by his side. Lizzy in one arm. Billy not far off, probably cracking a joke alongside Damien. Even Schoonover would probably meet them for an afternoon bite to eat.

That wasn’t going to happen again.

The next month would mark the one year since he lost Nicole and Lizzy. He tried not to think about it too much, but it was unavoidable. Living with the dull ache in his heart was a challenge he wouldn’t wish on his worst enemy. But Shayne knew he was luckier than most.

Courtney and Max were both panting as they approached Shayne’s bench. She sat down and procured Max’s collapsible water bowl then filled it up. Her hand wrapped around Shayne’s arm in a casual and affectionate manner. Her bright green eyes pierced the mounting darkness looming overhead.

“You okay?”

Shayne had Courtney, so the answer would in the end, always be, “Yeah.”

He pressed a kiss to her cheek. A quick, unassuming peck. A small show of his endless gratitude for her unwavering support.

Courtney’s face broke into a shy smile as she asked, “What was that for?”

“Nothing,” Shayne deflected, “You’re my favorite pizza place.”

The completely tangential reply threw Courtney off. Her laughter was music to his ears. She gave him a light smack on the arm as she said, “You’re so dumb.”

* * *

Courtney became a regular sight in his apartment, just like he was in hers. After that day, they began to spend Saturdays together in addition to Fridays (save for Shayne’s occasional night out with the Damien and Lewis). They returned to their respective apartments on Friday nights, but went back the next day. Some Saturdays were quiet days in, and others were spent out and about running errands. Other times, they livened it up and Courtney immersed Shayne in her hobbies. She convinced him nobody would recognize him through his hipster getup.

It was how he found himself swept off his feet and landing hard on a set of judo mats. Shayne wasn’t sure when was the last time he found anyone as inexplicitly attractive as Courtney in that moment – decked out in her white judogi, sweat on her brow, and a victorious smile on her lips. Though it didn’t stop Shayne from slamming Courtney onto the mats with the same throw five minutes later. He didn’t think Courtney would have it any other way, given how widely she grinned at him.

Usually, they would be paired off with people of the same sex, build, and height. Since Courtney trained at a smaller gym, they were allowed to partner up. They were of a similar height anyway, so it helped. Not to mention the difference in strength only emphasized the importance of technique, especially for Courtney. Well applied skills bested raw strength any day.

When they got to grappling, Shayne was worried it might get awkward. Courtney was quick to prove him wrong when she set him up in an armbar and waited for him to tap. Shayne shifted and gripped her gi to relieve the pressure, eyes darting around and searching for a means of escape.

All the while, Courtney was talking smack.

“C’mon, Brad – you gonna tap out?”

“Not on your life, Court.”

Shayne twisted in an attempt to free his trapped joint, only for Courtney to reposition and re-secure the lock. If Billy could see him now, he’d be once again laughing at his inability to be a dominant ground fighter. Joint locks and chokes weren’t Shayne’s specialty. He was more of a trip, throw, and pummel kind of guy.

“Oh, that was cute. Is this what they teach you in the Marines?”

Shayne grabbed at her gi once more and prepared to feint. “You talk a lot of shit for someone about to lose their lock.”

Before Courtney could retort, he lurched in the same manner as his previous attempt, baiting Courtney into repositioning. Shayne changed angles and successfully freed his arm. He pressed the advantage, but Courtney was quick on the uptake. Shayne tried to establish control and enter a full guard with his legs wrapped around her. Courtney anticipated it and passed his guard before he could lock it in place. She sat atop him in a full mount.

Her gi ruffled up in the scuffle, emphasizing her slender neck, her defined collarbone, and her toned shoulders. Courtney’s confidence, beautiful face, and shapely figure were all a tie for what he found most alluring in her.

He kind of liked the view from down here.

The lapse in attention was costly. Courtney shrugged the gi back into place and had Shayne in a cross choke in seconds. He got his head back into the game, tucking his face down to try and protect his neck. His feet pushed off against the mat to regain control. Courtney’s mount was solid, bent down low and close to his head to keep her center of gravity low. He couldn’t just buck her off from here.

His face was turning red as Courtney’s forearms squeezed the air out of him.

“Whatcha gonna do, Shayne?” Courtney whispered close to his ear.

“This,” Shayne grunted as he tugged down against Courtney’s elbows. It bought him a breath of air and destabilized her grip. Shayne bucked his hips to the side to try and throw Courtney off.

Her feet planted firmly on the mat, and she yanked Shayne’s lapel to keep him in check and secure the choke. Courtney landed back in her full mount before bending down to tighten the strangle and prevent further escapes.

Shayne grit his teeth as he kept the pressure on her elbows to grant himself a little bit of air. He felt Courtney’s warm laugh against his neck.

“They call you The Punisher?” Courtney whispered dubiously, and added with a hot breath, “C’mon, don’t just lie there. Punish me.”

Shayne tapped out.

It took an armbar of his own to wipe off Courtney’s smug grin. Shayne upped his game from there – or at least, did everything he could to avoid positions in which Courtney could whisper in his ear. He couldn’t be held liable for how his body reacted if she kept talking smack like _that_.

Shayne didn’t realize how attached he’d become to Courtney until Damien pointed it out over dinner. Since Shayne would typically relay what he’d been up to, it invariably involved Courtney time and time again. He tried to play it down and avoid making a big deal of it. He reasoned not a lot of people knew he was alive – it was only natural he spent a lot of time with her.

Talking about his complicated feelings towards Courtney was scary. He could admit that to himself. Damien could call him chickenshit all he wanted, but Shayne refused to talk about it further. Talking about it made it more real. It ironed out the kinks and the bumps. It gave it definition and clarity. Shayne wasn’t ready for that sort of epiphany.

Shayne cared about Courtney exceedingly – more than he thought possible. He didn’t think he could care that deeply about someone again, not after –

He avoided Damien’s scrutinous gaze and Alice’s attentive eyes.

All Shayne knew was that Courtney was indescribably important to him. He didn’t know what he’d do if he lost her. He wasn’t ready to feel that heart wrenching pain all over again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading til the end here! Boy, oh boy, I didn't plan for this to be a long chapter. It just sort of happened. I figured I needed one long chapter to establish what the new normal is for Shayne, and solidify the screen presence of a few new characters. I'll probably go back to more focused chapters next. I hope you enjoyed this one. It was fun to write the bar scene, and doubly fun writing the judo. I like to think they both talk smack, but Courtney always goes hard on the innuendo and makes Shayne take a step back because he's not mentally prepared for Courtney going from 0 to 100. But enough out of me. Have a good day, and I'll catch you in the next update.
> 
> P.S Anon updated their fanart. Ian and Anthony are lookin' fine <3 https://imgur.com/a/r948isL


	28. Let You Keep Me Safe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt pays Smosh a visit. Courtney and Shayne make plans and sleep fitfully.

The relative peace and status quo of Courtney’s new life with Shayne was eventually shattered. Not with a bullet, but with a discovery and an awakening.

In the Smosh office, the afternoon sun was beginning to tick down bit by bit. Courtney stood outside one recording studio as Ian and Anthony began to wrap up their latest Smoshcast Live. She watched with interest through the viewing window, alongside their production manager, Sarah Whittle. Courtney had a hand in part of the script and guide questions for this episode, so she wanted to see it unfold with her own eyes. The format of their little live talk show was fairly simple – they discussed recent events that were stirring the pot, then took questions from callers.

“So, when are we meeting the boyfriend?” Sarah nudged Courtney.

Courtney did her best to scoff and shake her head in denial.

“C’mon, Court,” Sarah turned her knowing look to Courtney, “You used to stay ‘til closing and work yourself dead. Now you’re like out the door right on the clock like you got places to be. Is he the guy you met out of state?”

“I do _not_ have a boyfriend out of state.” Courtney’s light pink cheeks were working against her.

Sarah’s dubious eyes rolled once. “You just got cards from a secret admirer? Brand new phone right after Valentine’s Day? And now you’re walking around with a spring in your step?”

Courtney crossed her arms and turned her attention back to the recording room window. With a shrug, she not very confidently said, “It was fan mail.”

Before Sarah could press the issue, the door leading out opened a crack, revealing Zach the intern’s face. He looked at Courtney and gave a polite smile, “There’s a Detective Matt Raub here to see you, Ms. Miller.”

Her stomach performed a little flip.

What did Matt want?

She hadn’t talked to the detective since Christmas, when Smosh sent gift baskets to the precinct and the man himself. If he was reaching out in person, it had to be important. Her skin prickled as the worry wormed around within her.

Was Shayne’s identity compromised? Was her presence at Tepper’s or Schoonover’s address uncovered? Did they have something damning on her? On Shayne?

Matt was standing with crossed arms just by her desk. Courtney gave him a hesitant wave as she approached. “What’s up, Matt? Back in the suit and out of the tac vest?”

After the shootout at the precinct, Matt had an epiphany of sorts of how ill prepared they were for a serious firefight. Once his hand was cleared for active duty, he and numerous survivors of the attack signed up for extra combat training. Now, they were on-call to support other units that needed extra firepower and tactical prowess.

The detective’s eyes passed over the busy office and the numerous people that walked to and fro. They watched Matt and Courtney with intrigue and curiosity. Matt cleared his throat and took a slight step closer. “Got somewhere private we can talk?”

They found themselves in the cramped three-man conference room towards the back of the office. It was the same room she conferred with Olivia in last year. The lights flickered for a few seconds before the fluorescent white flooded the space. Matt set the briefcase slung over his shoulder onto the table, sending dust up into the air. Courtney sneezed as she shut the door to shield them from prying eyes.

Matt went straight to the point. He tugged a folder free from the briefcase and splayed it out for her to see. Courtney was greeted by the photo of a burned prosthetic right hand. It was Schoonover’s.

Courtney did her utmost to maintain a neutral expression under Matt’s scrutinous gaze. Prosthetics were a dime in a dozen – you couldn’t _that_ easily tell one set apart from another at a glance. She could reasonably deny recognizing Schoonover’s.

Matt didn’t lay into her with accusations, much to her relief. Instead, he explained, “Our recovery teams spent weeks diving in the port where that ship blew up last year. We recovered traces of heroin, while most was destroyed in the blast. But there were easily _tens of thousands_ of pounds of heroin on that ship when it went up. Our teams pulled dozens of bodies out of the water, lots of them burned beyond recognition.”

“You, uh – you found this in the water?” Courtney motioned to the picture.

“Amateur divers like poking around places where there’s been former criminal activity, sunken ships – that sort of stuff. One of them found the prosthetic just this week. The sediment down there must have shifted over time or something, because our team missed this.”

Max slid the picture closer to her, and she took a moment to look at the jagged scar over his thumb. The folder revealed a few more photos of the prosthetic from different angles. “We were able to pull a partial off the serial number. We got a match.”

Courtney blinked once and kept her poker face on. Matt no longer seemed to be buying it. “This belonged to Colonel Ray Schoonover, whose house was burned down the night of the shipyard explosion, _and_ who was anonymously reported missing that _same_ night.”

Courtney pursed her lips and nodded along in response to Matt’s statements. When she didn’t reply, Matt went on, “Who do we know is connected to the colonel, and was being hunted by a heroin kingpin?”

“Shayne?” Courtney could only feign ignorance so much. The last thing she needed was for her silence to make her look guilty.

“So Topp survives the explosion of the gas tanker, finds out the colonel is The Blacksmith, dismantles his operation, burns his house to the ground, then continues his bloody war?” Matt posed the question. Courtney bit her lip and found that her heart was beating too hard and too fast to say anything. Matt clarified, “I could see the pattern in the bodies he was leaving – other people might not have, but after seeing enough of his handiwork up close and in the files…”

Matt blew out a sigh, “Courtney, talk to me here. Tell me I’m not crazy.”

“Is this on the record?” Courtney palmed the phone in her pocket, “Should I call my lawyers?”

Matt was quick to shake his head. “Leave the circus out of this.” He put his hands down on the table as he said, “I can’t tell my bosses that a dead man dismantled the most secretive heroin trafficking organization in the city’s history. That’s like,” He let out a scoff, “Career suicide.”

Courtney dealt in half-truths. “We suspected the same when the colonel went missing around the time of the explosion. He just seemed too knowledgeable about things, like he was playing us.”

“Did Topp reach out to you?”

“No,” Courtney’s reply came almost too quickly. She was forced to hold Matt’s calculating stare for a few seconds longer. “He’s always been trying to push me and the lawyers away from him. Shayne didn’t want us getting hurt because of the people that were after him.”

Matt ran a frustrated hand across his bearded face. “The bodies stopped in El Paso. I kept track in my spare time because obviously I’m not getting paid to track dead men. Is he… what, gone to the wind now?”

Courtney gave a half-hearted shrug and offered a smile, “Maybe he’s trying to find peace now.”

Matt appeared to contemplate her answer for just a moment. “I’d take Topp getting a nine to five desk job over dropping bodies any day…” He looked almost wistful imagining Shayne suited up in a cubicle. After a beat, he continued, “This stuff about Topp stays between us. As far as the precinct at large knows, well,” He shrugged, “Aside from the men and women who survived the assault – they helped me keep tabs on his movements when I keyed them in on my suspicion that he’s still alive. The rest still believe he’s as good as dead.”

“You gonna keep it that way?”

“Yeah,” Matt nodded, “No use stirring the pot over that. Other than his method of operation, nothing ties him to any of the killings.” Matt cracked a small smile and told her, “There is a pot you could start stirring though.”

Courtney was relieved enough that Matt didn’t intend to prove Shayne’s survival. If he had something else that she could poke at, she didn’t mind. It was about time her journalistic hiatus ended. It’d been too long since she dragged the truth to light.

“What’s that?”

“Reyes is awake.”

The simple and largely impactful statement shook Courtney to her core. The former District Attorney had been in a coma for over six months now.

“What? Since when?” Courtney asked.

“Just this afternoon. All this Blacksmith conspiracy and DA coverup stuff is way over my paygrade. Most of the parties involved are dead and buried, so there isn’t much justice the precinct can bring. But,” Matt gave her a knowing look, “Smosh can put her and the late colonel on blast, let the truth out. Last I heard, DA Tower is bringing the heat on Reyes.”

“Keith, Noah, and Liv are helping Tower prepare the case,” Courtney let out a small laugh, “It’s all coming together, huh?”

Matt slid the files over towards Courtney to emphasize his point. “Take these. Supporting documents for your story.”

“Matt, I – are you sure?” Even as she asked, she was already gathering the documents and pictures.

“Case is closed. There’s nothing the 15th can do with those. It’s your turn.”

Matt was on his way out, and Courtney was in Ian’s office not five minutes later. She was bubbling with excitement and nearly bouncing off her seat. Ian sat behind his desk. Anthony had filed in shortly after, with Max in tow. The Pitbull had a fondness for Anthony that was hard to place, but nobody was complaining. Max padded up to sniff Ian’s leg, snort, then walk away to sit at Courtney’s feet.

She giggled at her dog’s odd behavior, while Ian just crossed his arms in dejection. Anthony sat on the edge of Ian’s desk and motioned for her to start.

Courtney showed them the pictures Matt had given her and began pitching the story. Schoonover’s identity as The Blacksmith, the truth behind the cover up – all of it. The only thing missing was the colonel’s reason for not showing up to the drug meet he organized. Courtney figured Shayne had that final missing piece, but the rest was already set. Leak and Grossman, as well as Tower could corroborate the other details of Reyes’ involvement in the cover up. That was if she herself didn’t plan to be forthcoming with her side of the story.

It was going to be a riveting piece of betrayal and conspiracy. The kind of shit-stirring that Smosh was best at. They had all the insider info to put the story in the bag. While other outlets would be reporting on the former DA’s awakening, they’d be releasing the truth behind the tangled web of secrets she was embroiled in.

“Get in touch with Leak and Grossman,” Ian rubbed his beard thoughtfully, “Embed yourself if you have to, but I think that won’t be necessary. You already have most of the info. Just need to seal the deal.”

“Do a little poking around,” Anthony suggested, “The colonel must have had a good reason for not showing up to the meet.”

The answer to that question would lie with Shayne. It was going to take some convincing to get him to open up, but she had time.

* * *

Courtney knew Shayne wasn’t going to be happy about this. He made it abundantly clear that the story was supposed to die when Schoonover did. But Courtney steeled herself for the inevitable argument. Things were different now. The Blacksmith’s crew was destroyed with brutal efficiency and so were the rest of the gangs. There was nobody left that could pose a threat to her when the article went live. The truth could finally be set free from where it’d been long buried.

She’d already gotten in touch with Olivia, who was back working part-time with Leak and Grossman while she studied for the bar. Tower was one of the first people Reyes saw when she woke up. She was tired, frail, and looked nothing like the commanding District Attorney she used to be.

Reyes’ lawyers were still going to draft a plea deal with Tower, but there was no doubt to it. Reyes intended to plead guilty in exchange for a reduced sentence – probably a decade or two in jail with the possibility of parole. The charges Tower had against her were endless – malfeasance in office, perjury, obstruction of justice, and numerous counts of conspiracy to commit murder (attempted or otherwise).

They were in Courtney’s apartment this Friday night. Throughout the evening, Courtney did her best to maintain a sense of normalcy as she gathered her guts to bring it up to Shayne. They had dinner and sunk into their regular evening routine. Max had a long day of playing around with Anthony and her other officemates, so he was out cold on one side of the sofa. Courtney and Shayne sat side by side as the TV droned on.

A few episodes passed by and she struggled to keep up proper conversation with Shayne. He eventually lowered the volume and shifted on the couch to face her. With a nudge and a cautious smile, he prompted her, “What’s up? You’ve been out of it all night.”

Perhaps she didn’t do that good of a job at acting normal after all.

“Matt from the 15th found Schoonover’s prosthetic at the bottom of the dockyard,” Courtney winced at the sight of Shayne’s trigger finger starting up its dormant anxious tapping. She barreled on to get it all out of the way, “He’s made the connection that the colonel was The Blacksmith, but that’s not information he can act on.”

Shayne blew out a long sigh, “Well if he’s leaving it at that, then we’re all good.”

“He knows you’re alive. He and the survivors from the attack tracked your movements across the country,” Courtney placed a hand over his to stop the fidgeting. “But they aren’t going to raise that either because there’s not enough to incriminate you. Nobody would believe them. People would probably think they were biased because you saved their lives.”

Courtney watched that familiar dark storm she hadn’t seen in months creep back onto Shayne’s face. With another rattled breath, he asked, “Do they know we’re in contact?”

“No,” She shook her head, “All they know is you’re out there and went into hiding after you finished off the gangs.”

Before Shayne could so much as feel any semblance of relief, she continued, “Reyes is awake.” Courtney squeezed his hands to defuse the scowl that rose up on his face, “She’s going to take a guilty plea for a reduced sentence.”

Courtney could already see the murderous intent bubbling up within him. The savage rage that had been lying asleep and unperturbed for so long. Courtney’s hands went up to his neck, sliding up to his jaw where she could hold his face. “Shayne, it’s over. She’s going to prison where she can’t hurt either of us.”

“Bell’s dead because of her,” Shayne’s face tightened into a frown, “ _We_ were nearly killed because of her.”

“I know,” Courtney’s thumbs brushed against the angry lines of his face, “But it’s over. She’s given up. She’s not a threat anymore.”

His dark eyes were flitting across her face, studying her, and searching. For what, she wasn’t sure. Then his eyes widened a fraction, like an epiphany came over him.

“You’re thinking of writing that article, aren’t you?”

Courtney stood firm. “I _am_ writing that article.”

Shayne leaned back and away from her hands. Her skin felt cold at the sudden severance of their contact. Shayne’s expression was darkening by the moment. He let out an almost confused scoff. “You agreed that you wouldn’t.”

“It’s different now, Shayne.” Courtney’s hands settled on her lap now that he had rejected her touch.

“How is it different?” He asked incredulously.

“Schoonover’s dead, Shayne – you made sure of that. His crew, his operation, it’s all over. The Irish, Mexicans, bikers, they’re all gone too,” Courtney tried to meet his eyes, which were darting everywhere but her. He looked as lost, anxious, and panicked as he did last year.

“Getting the truth out there is the right thing to do. Do you want the colonel to have gone down in history as an upstanding officer in the Corps? Is that how you want the world to know him?” Courtney ducked her head slightly to make eye contact with Shayne’s brooding face. “Because that’s how he’ll be remembered if I don’t do this.”

“What if one of them survived, hm?” Shayne jaw was tight, and the muscles of his neck tensed with each pause he took. “What if Reyes realizes she doesn’t want you to smear her name, then what?”

Courtney crossed her arms as Shayne went on in a low voice, anger just barely contained, “This – all of this,” Shayne motioned around them, and towards each other, “She’s gonna take it away from us, Court. She’s going to try and kill us _again_.”

“She’s out of friends, Shayne. Rock bottom. Nobody is going to help her even if she wanted us dead.”

“You don’t know that!” Shayne argued, “Reyes and Schoonover thought I could be swept under the rug – they thought I could be erased after I hit rock bottom.” He scoffed again, “Schoonover’s dead. He underestimated me and now he’s dead for it. Reyes should be dead too, but I thought she wasn’t waking up, so I never finished the job. If we underestimate her, we’re dead too.”

“Reyes is not Shayne Topp,” Courtney’s answer was firm and resolute, “She’s not capable of clawing her way back from the brink of death. She’s done. She’s not fighting.”

“All that’s left is for me to tell the story. Let the world know that one of your closest friends betrayed you,” Her tone was pleading now as she cautiously reached out to him once more. This time Shayne didn’t recoil at her hand planting flat against his chest. “I’ll show them Schoonover wasn’t the decorated commander he’s made out to be. That Reyes was dirty to the core and failed to give you justice because her own career was more important to her.”

Shayne was silent. The fight was draining out of him with each word that spilled from her lips. The storm in his eyes dwindled down to a quiet melancholia.

“You deserve to have your truth out there.” Courtney inched closer to gently bring his face up to look at her. “Nicki and Liz deserve it. It’s an injustice to let the truth stay buried. People need to see why this happened to the Topp family.”

“I don’t want you to get hurt,” Shayne’s worry was palpable.

“I won’t be.” Courtney assured him. With a gentle smile, she reminded him, “You once said you can’t go after them and keep me safe at the same time. I’m a big girl and I can take care of myself. God help anyone that gets in the sights of my .380.”

“Atomic Blonde with the hand cannon,” Shayne muttered with a little smile of his own.

“But if it makes you feel better, Shayne, then I’ll let you.”

“Let me what?”

“Keep me safe,” Courtney offered. “Stick around more often, chaperone me on the drive to work, change my door locks – I dunno – whatever it is you think will help keep me safe. At least until the hubbub of the article’s publishing dies down.”

The olive branch did the trick. His light blue eyes appeared thoughtful as they peered at her.

“You don’t have to hunt anyone down anymore.” Courtney told him, “Just stay by my side for a while. We can watch each other’s backs. We’re safer together than apart. Like I told you, I’m with you.”

With a tentative sigh, Shayne compromised, “Okay.”

“Okay?” Courtney flashed him a sweet, appreciative smile.

The last of the tension eased from Shayne’s being. He swept a loose couple of strands of hair back in place as he returned the smile. “Okay, Court.”

They started talking security measures from there. It would bring Shayne some peace of mind, and Courtney was fine with the extra precautionary steps as long as they weren’t particularly intrusive.

The immediate measures were Shayne’s first concern. He wanted to install a peephole, replace the screws of her locks and deadbolts, secure locks to the windows – the works. Shayne was thorough, and rightfully so. Courtney could appreciate his eye for detail when it came to these things.

After that, they discussed the changes that they themselves would take. Rerouting the drive to work and carrying an extra magazine of ammunition were the initial thoughts. Courtney had to shake off the sense of déjà vu. The glint of a blade in the darkness, and the uncertain heft of the pistol in her hands – the memories were flooding back to the forefront of her mind. Courtney took similar precautions in the aftermath of that fateful night. Planning them yet again was making her insides turn.

Since they discussed the idea of Shayne riding shotgun to work, Courtney had to ask, “You wanna crash here for a while?” She added with a mischievous smirk, “At least that way you can keep me out of trouble.”

“I have a feeling you’ll go looking for it anyway,” Shayne countered with an amused huff, but considered her request, “It’d be nice to stay close until it all blows over. But I don’t want to intrude either.”

“Nah,” Courtney waved him off, “I’d be happy to have you. Besides, I’ve seen your place. You’re the cleanest person I know. You’d make a good roommate.” Courtney would’ve loved to have Shayne all to herself in bed, but she knew that wasn’t an option. She didn’t bother trying to convince him with some lame excuse that it would be better for his back. “Couch is soft, too.”

Shayne patted the cushions with a certain fondness, “Right about that…” He was silent then, and a frown wormed its way up to his brow. With some hesitation he admitted, “I get a lot of nightmares. Some nights are worse than others. I don’t want to wake you by accident.”

Courtney had her own nightmares of knife-wielding stalkers, bloody prison brawls, thundering gunfire, and the colonel’s pistol to her back. She could empathize. “It’s fine. I have them too. I wouldn’t hold it against you.”

They sunk back into discussion of habits and routines they’d need to adapt to, starting with the tactical. Shayne would enter her apartment first and clear it room by room, while she waited in the living room, weapon in reach and watching the door. Courtney would watch Shayne’s back while he did a quick check for explosives planted on the undercarriage of her car.

When they wrapped up the thorough, if not excessive, precautions, they spoke of the mundane things that the other needed to get used to. Courtney woke up later than Shayne, who needed to keep his phone’s alarm volume down to avoid disturbing her too much. Shayne wouldn’t stand by and tolerate her Keurig, so he’d be packing his own humble coffee maker in rebellion.

By the time their planning winded down, it was past midnight – far later than Shayne or she had ever stayed over before. They’d never spent the night in each other’s apartments prior, but after all they’d discussed, there had to be a first time for everything.

“Stay the night?” Courtney asked and may or may not have turned up the puppy dog eyes. To lend herself some credibility, she added, “I don’t want you driving this late.”

To his credit, Shayne wasn’t putting up a fight. He appeared to think it over for a second before a yawn crept up on him. He stifled it with the back of his hand before nodding in agreement. He voiced his one concern, “Jeans don’t make the best sleeping clothes though.”

Courtney was unintentionally prepared for such a scenario. “You know, my brother crashed with me last year and I think,” She pushed herself up and started walking towards her bedroom, “He may have left some comfy joggers you can borrow.”

After a moment of rummaging through her closet, she recovered the soft pair of grey pants. As she was about to return to Shayne, the shirts at the top of the pile caught her eye. With a sly grin, she pulled her top off and replaced it with the soft oversized shirt from the pile. She grabbed the identical dark shirt and strode out to the living room.

“Got you a shirt too,” Courtney tossed the full attire towards Shayne, who fumbled to catch the ensemble. It barely took a second for him to register what she was pulling.

Courtney proudly set her hands on her hips and puffed out her chest to emphasize the white skull on her black shirt. Shayne glared at the matching shirt he’d been given. With a cross between a scoff and a laugh, he asked, “You’re forcing me into wearing my merch as a couple shirt? Really?”

“Jeez, I didn’t know you were such an ungrateful house guest, Shayne,” Courtney rolled her eyes far harder than necessary, prompting another small laugh from Shayne.

“Fine,” Shayne stood up and stretched tall. Holding back another yawn, he told her, “I’m beat. I’ll just change then pass out. My exam today kicked my ass.”

“Some Punisher you are,” Courtney tutted disapprovingly. It earned her a hip check from Shayne. She let out a little yelp as he continued on over to her bathroom. While he changed, Courtney slipped back into her bedroom to trade in her leggings for a pair of shorts. She still had a brief nightly ritual to go through – removing makeup and whatnot – but that could wait until after Shayne was finished.

Not long after, Courtney finished dumping a spare pillow and blanket on the sofa just as Shayne exited the bathroom. The Punisher shirt was oversized on her, but it fit Shayne just right. It didn’t cling to his form uncomfortably. Instead, the soft fabric highlighted all the defined muscle he was packing, but hung just loose enough to be cozy. The joggers completed the look, making him look like the coziest cuddle buddy on the planet. She fought off the desire to pounce on him then and there but couldn’t stop herself from smiling wide at the sight of him.

“What?” Shayne asked with a little confused laugh, “Is this a good look on me?”

“C’mere,” Courtney tugged her phone free. It’d been stored in the tiny pocket of her shorts that barely fit a quarter of the phone. She motioned him over as she turned the front camera on.

Shayne cautiously stepped over to join her. Courtney slung an arm over his shoulder, prompting Shayne to ease a hand up to her waist. It took a moment for Shayne to smile for the camera, but Courtney didn’t mind. The last picture taken of him (aside from his drunken group photo) was a mugshot months and months ago.

She snapped the selfie, sure to include their matching merchandise. Courtney raised the phone up to Shayne for his approval, all the while beaming ear to ear. “We’re so cute.”

“Don’t let anyone see that,” Shayne warned, even as he gave a smile of his own. He placed a quick peck to her cheek before extracting his arm from around her. “Night, Court.”

“Good night, Shayne.”

Shayne walked over to the couch while Courtney refrained from telling him to join her in bed instead. Now wasn’t the time for recklessness of that sort. Courtney kept her hormones in check by immersing herself into her nightly routine. By the time she finished sometime later, her skin was perfectly soft, and she spied Shayne sound asleep on her couch.

He looked more peaceful than ever. Not the slightest bit of tension in his frame, and a complete absence of a frown on his face. Courtney refrained from staring and decided to give him some privacy.

As Courtney settled into bed, she realized something was missing. After sitting up, it all became clear. Max was still snoring peacefully at the foot of the sofa, accompanying Shayne. Courtney didn’t mind. Shayne probably needed the closeness and comfort more than she did.

Even with Max absent from her bed, Courtney could get used to this. Seeing Shayne in homey clothes was a heartwarming and plainly domestic sight. She knew he was taking this idea of being her temporary protection detail seriously, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy the perks. Having him close by for a month was definitely a perk. She’d miss it when it was over.

Courtney left her door open a crack that night. Whether as a silent reminder that she was always there if he needed her, or so she could hear his impossibly soft snoring, she wasn’t sure. It made her feel more connected to him in a way. She lulled herself to sleep imagining the give of the mattress beneath his warm, strong body.

* * *

A loud _thud_ and a surprised bark from Max were what awoke Courtney at two in the morning. Her pistol was in her shaking hands in moments, even as her heart violently crashed against her ribcage.

The sound ripped memories from the back of her head and shoved them into the forefront of her mind. It was the same crash, deafening in the silence of her apartment – the same sound when she’d tipped over her coffee table as she toppled over it. All that was missing were the heavy footfalls of her attacker.

But Shayne was out there with Max. She needed to get out there _now_ and help him if someone had just broken in. She told him they were in this together and she’d be damned if she went back on her word.

Courtney pushed forward with aggression, swinging her door open and raising her .380’s sights up. Her feet were carrying her forward into the living room almost automatically. She scanned her surroundings, searching for threats.

All she found was Shayne hunched over on the sofa, head in his hands. His breathing was labored, and his leg was bouncing up and down with unrestrained anxiety. All of Shayne’s latent nervous ticks were back in full swing. The coffee table was knocked onto its side. Max was pawing at Shayne, whimpering to get his attention. Courtney set the gun down on the closest free space and slowly approached Shayne. She didn’t need to ask to know this was the doing of a nightmare.

“Shayne?” Courtney called out as she got closer. The man in question’s rigid shoulders tensed further. His wild eyes were glazed over and bleary when they came to look at her. Courtney eased herself down onto the space next to him. Her hand settled on Shayne’s arm to give a faint squeeze. It was only then that he seemed to regain focus. He glanced once at Max, and then back towards her.

Shayne gave a pat to the concerned pup’s head. He turned to Courtney, but his flighty eyes settled anywhere but her. “Stood up so fast I knocked it over. Sorry I woke you.” His voice was quiet even in the stillness of her apartment.

“It’s okay,” Courtney assured him. She watched as his hand fiddled with the wedding ring he wore with a chain around his neck. Courtney had noticed it occasionally peeking out of his clothes, but it was the first time she got a good look at it. She was glad he got a nice chain for the ring.

Courtney wrapped her arms around his and leaned in to rest her head on his shoulder. They sat together in silence for some time as Shayne’s heavy breathing evened out. If she were being honest with herself, she wasn’t sure what to do. She didn’t want to push him into opening up, but she felt the need to remind him that he could.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

His Adam’s apple bobbed with a gulp. With a hoarse voice, he told her, “Always the same shit. Always the same damn park. Never fast enough to help them. I can never save them.”

Courtney hugged his arm all the tighter as he went on. “Sometimes there’s more people. Billy’s there. Damien’s there with Alice. Hell, even Bell’s there. I can’t save any of them either. Other times,” He let out a low exhale, “I can see Schoonover pulling the trigger, but I can’t stop him.”

His teeth grit together, and there was a slight twitch by his nose as he added, “Sometimes you’re there too and I,” Shayne licked his dry lips, “I can’t do shit.”

“There’s so much blood.” His eyes vacantly looked ahead at the overturned coffee table. “The grass is red. I see it everywhere, smell it,” His lip curled in disgust, “Taste it.”

“You’re safe here,” Courtney whispered, “We’re both safe now.”

Shayne shifted to face her, and his arms moved to reach for her but paused. As if they hadn’t already broken down most of their barriers, he asked, “Can I…?”

Courtney all but crawled into his lap to show him that _yes, this is okay_. They wrapped each other up tight in a warm, secure hold. Shayne’s fingers ran through her hair, and Courtney found herself mimicking the motion. She’d never dated anyone with hair this long before, but she enjoyed the ruggedly handsome look on Shayne. It helped that he appeared to take good care of his thick mane. His beard was just as well groomed, and she savored the sensation of it brushing against her cheek.

There was little more that Courtney could say to lend Shayne some comfort. She focused instead on pouring all her care and attention into their embrace. Her hands ran through his hair or drew small strokes against his skin. Under her breath, she’d whisper to him, “I’m with you,” and then seal the promise with a brush of her lips to his bearded cheek.

Either Shayne was just that damn cozy, or they must have hugged it out for longer than she realized. Courtney’s head was lolling to one side, and she slipped into unconsciousness for a split second. She jolted awake in place, eliciting a soft rumbling chuckle from Shayne.

“Go to bed,” Shayne pulled back slowly. His hands lingered on her sides, thumbs rubbing along her ribs.

“You’ll be okay?”

His own voice was husky with sleepiness as he muttered, “Don’t worry ‘bout me, babe.” Shayne cleared his throat, “Bud – whatever.”

An airy laugh escaped Courtney’s lips and it wasn’t long before he was quietly laughing along in spite of himself. Shayne nudged her along then, telling her to get some rest as he righted the coffee table. After bidding one another good night yet again, Courtney trailed off to her bedroom. Max remained by Shayne’s side yet again, which was good. Shayne needed him.

Courtney tucked herself in once more. The grogginess had set in while wrapped up with Shayne. Drifting back off was easy. The only problem was the prevalence of her coffee table’s crash, loud and present in her mind as sleep took her.

* * *

The pain came over Courtney in a hot flash across her face. The force of the blow sent her stumbling over her coffee table and onto the hard ground. But it was not in vain. She felt the cool, heavy steel in her palm.

She raised the weapon in the silhouette’s direction. He staggered a little where he stood, an arm outstretched to steady himself. His hand brushed against hung picture frames, which were sent clattering to the ground. He wiped at his mouth once, then looked at his hand. There was a moment of recognition – almost surprise – when he realized the blood was his own. His predatory gaze returned to her.

“You shouldn’t have hit me, Courtney.”

He took a deliberate step forward.

“When I’m done with you,” He let out a low chuckle, “Your friends at work are next.”

Courtney’s heart pounded in her ears. Her deft hands moved with a practiced precision. The weapon’s safety was flicked off.

“Put the gun down, Courtney.”

His heavy footfalls drew closer.

She rotated the pistol to its side and yanked the slide back to chamber the bullet – it was second nature now.

“You shouldn’t have done that, Courtney.”

He took another step forward. He was close – no more than four feet away. She wouldn’t miss.

“I’ll start with Ian and Anthony,” Another breathy laugh, “They’ll finally get what’s coming to them.”

Her aim was steady. Her breaths were even.

There was a glint in the darkness – of sharp metal reflecting the dim moonlight. He began to take another step forward, knife poising to strike.

“Give me the gun, Courtney. I know you won’t sh-”

_Click_.

Courtney’s blood ran cold as the hammer bit the primer and failed to fire. She tugged back on the slide again to clear the dud round. Her hands were quick, but not quick enough.

The knife plunged into her abdomen. He tore into her with savage stabs. The gun clattered uselessly to the ground as she struggled to fight him off. Her strength ebbed away as her shirt grew slick with blood. What started out as a sharp pain was quickly reduced to a terrifying numbness, like she’d been injected with anesthesia.

Then the stabbing stopped. Powerful arms tightened around her neck and twisted her to the side.

Bodies littered the ground. The worst part was that Courtney recognized them.

Two masked men from the Cartel’s hit squad – shredded by automatic fire and buckshot.

An Irishman with a face full of scars. He was deathly pale, contrasting the blood that was still seeping from his punctured neck.

Her stalker, barely out of his teens and no older than the office intern. Seven gunshot wounds oozed crimson out of his chest and back.

Courtney’s limp head craned up to look at Mike, who had her secure in a headlock. The side of his neck spurted blood, but that didn’t stop him from throttling the life out of her.

“Killer.”

It was all Mike’s grim voice snarled into her ear. She tried to let out a shout to call for help, but the murderous hold around her neck choked it back down. Courtney was finally silenced when he snapped her neck with a powerful jerk.

* * *

The scream escaped Courtney’s mouth as she bolted upright. Her chest heaved with labored breaths. She reached instinctively for her bedside table, for her .380 within. Before she could pull back the nightstand drawer, her door swung open.

Shayne barged in, his own gun drawn and eyes alert. His head swiveled around the room and to the only other entry point, the window. When he surmised it was clear, his gaze fell back on her.

Courtney’s throat was tight, like the massive biker’s arms were still throttling the life out of her. Her hands were shaking as they released the bedside drawer. The body count she’d racked up was burned into her mind. Their limp, lifeless corpses littering her apartment floor – she saw them as clear as day.

_Killer._

A shudder rocked her whole frame. Courtney drew her knees up to her chest. She tried to reel in her rattled breathing as best she could.

This was the most severe nightmare she’d had in a while. They decreased in frequency and lowered in intensity ever since Shayne got back into town. There was hardly this much stabbing pain and frantic panic. She’d typically awake with a gasp and her heart racing. The .380 in her drawer was largely undisturbed. Instead, she took solace in Max’s presence by her side, imagined Shayne in bed with them, then drifted back off into a fitful sleep.

As if on cue, Max trotted in after Shayne and pounced straight up and onto the bed. He cuddled up to her side and began licking her face. Courtney fondly rubbed at the dog’s head as she looked up at Shayne. He was quietly watching her – studying her with sharp eyes. She suddenly felt like she was back in the hospital and had just shoved his family photo in his face. Shayne set his gun down onto her bedside and wordlessly motioned to the edge of her bed.

Rather than answer verbally, Courtney gave his hand a tug. Shayne complied and sat down. In the darkness of her bedroom, she could just make out the glint of his wedding ring, and the concerned furrow of his brow.

“Wanna talk about it?”

Courtney couldn’t remember the last time she spoke of what happened that night. There was almost a sort of childish mindset she had wherein if she never talked about it, that terrible night was less real. Even after all the blood she’d shed last year, that night years ago haunted her the most. She had nightmares of the prison fight, the precinct shootout, Schoonover’s kidnapping – all of it. But this stuck with her the most, like a scar etched into her skin. The amount of blood she had on her hands was enough to make her head spin.

Yet this was Shayne sitting on her bed. The man whose life was laid bare before her. Even – no, _especially_ – the worst parts of it. She knew Shayne happy and smiling, and she knew him broken, bleeding, and murderous.

There was nobody she could trust more to understand the darkness that gripped her own soul.

With a deep breath, she started at the beginning, “When I first joined Smosh, I mostly acted in our skits and satire bits.”

Shayne eased himself onto the bed fully. He sat cross-legged to face her. Courtney remained hugging her knees for the time being. If she wrapped herself up in Shayne’s comforting arms, she was sure the waterworks would burst out.

“I had a little fanfare going for me. We all did. Ian and Anthony too, even if they were rarely on camera.” Courtney took another breath, “Then the letters came in.”

It was almost as if both Max and Shayne were acutely aware of the dour turn this would take. The overgrown pup let out a little whimper and burrowed his head in the space between her thigh and her abdomen. Shayne’s left hand was consciously holding onto his right’s trigger finger to suppress his anxious ticks.

“It’s not usually weird. We all got fan mail. But this one writer was obsessive. He wrote his number at the bottom and wanted me to call him. I never did, and the letters kept coming. The writer was furious with me for not calling or writing back. Ian and Anthony had Matt run the number. Found it belonged to some young guy living upstate. Matt was still a patrolman so he did the legwork himself. He said the guy didn’t look like much, just some kid living with his parents. Just the same, he gave a bit of a stern talking to him then was on his way.”

Shayne was silent throughout her story. He listened intently with a clenched jaw and a disturbed frown.

“I got one last letter after that. More anger and threats against me, Ian, Anthony, and the whole office. This all happened at the end of the day, so when we reported it to Matt, he said we’d have to wait until tomorrow to get all the court documents for a restraining order.”

Courtney cleared her throat as she went on, “He broke into my apartment that night. I didn’t have anything more than a door lock back then. I’d never fought anyone in my entire life or held a gun.”

“He had a gun?” Shayne’s frown darkened as he posed the question.

Courtney nodded. She swallowed the lump in her throat and rubbed at the prickling heat running along her arms. The images grew a terrifying clarity in her mind as the words continued to spill out. She could hear the crash of the coffee table. Feel the weight of cool steel in her hands. See the bright muzzle flash illuminating her living room. Smell the gunpowder that blackened her hands. Taste the copper tang in the air as blood pooled into the cracks of her floor.

“He hit me, and I tripped over the table by the sofa, but I got his gun.” She watched Shayne give a nod of approval as she spoke, “He was threatening me the whole time while I turned the safety off, loaded it, aimed it…” Courtney could see the glimmer of steel in the moonlight, “He pulled a knife out.”

With a shuddering exhale, Courtney tried to continue, “I…” The words stalled on her tongue. Her vocal cords seized up, uncooperative. The recoil of the gun in her shaking hands was all she could think of.

“You shot him.” Shayne saved her the trouble of saying the words out loud. But that oversimplified it.

“I emptied the entire mag into him.”

“Good.” Was Shayne’s simple reply.

It caught her off guard. It drew out a sound that was almost a cross between a sob and a laugh. Courtney shook her head, “I murdered him.”

“It was either you or him,” Shayne told her. “You did the right thing.”

“I should’ve stopped after the first shot,” Courtney fought back the ball in her throat as she spoke, “He didn’t need to die.”

Without an ounce of doubt, Shayne disagreed, “He did. You looked after yourself and your friends, and you never have to apologize for that. That shitbag isn’t worth a second of doubt or remorse.”

There was a lightness in her chest. Hearing his words all but absolved Courtney of her guilt of the act. But what still made her insides turn was how easily she could believe in Shayne. That her stalker wasn’t worth the remorse.

Lacking the words, Courtney extended her arms towards Shayne, almost in command rather than invitation. The dread had built up within her, and she craved his touch. His steady presence that beat back her worries.

Ever the dutiful Marine, Shayne complied. Max took note of the shifting positions and made room. He lazily padded over towards the lower part of the bed while Shayne crawled over to her side. Courtney sunk into his arms instantly. She rested her head against his sturdy chest. She drew comfort from the gentle strokes of his fingers along her arm.

In the darkness of her bedroom, in the safety of Shayne’s embrace, it was easy letting her worries out. The thoughts were like acid in her mind, dripping and corroding through her sanity. They escaped her lips, as quiet as a confession. “He needed therapy. A doctor. Not bullets.”

Shayne’s lips pressed a kiss to her head. He told her just as quietly, “Maybe. But the choice you made in that moment was the right call.”

“Why do I still feel like a monster?”

“You’re not a monster. What you did doesn’t define you.” It was only fitting that it came from Shayne. He’d been branded as The Punisher whether he liked it or not. Courtney knew he never took pride in the one-dimensional label.

When Courtney let the silence hang for a heartbeat, Shayne went on. As if trading her secret for one of his own, he told her, “I’ve killed people that didn’t deserve it. I’m sure of it now.”

Courtney wasn’t sure if it was supposed to comfort her, but it certainly got her attention. She pulled her head up from his chest to look at him. Their faces were inches away when she stammered out, “W-what?”

“Back in Afghanistan, we were doing good things, you know? All people think about is oil or whatever,” Shayne scoffed, “But we were helping people. Those small mountain towns were _horrified_ by the terrorists. When we did our patrols, people were happy to see us. They knew we were there to fight the bad guys.”

“There was this pumping station that the insurgents blew up, cut off water to this isolated town. We escorted a combat engineer unit to repair it. For two months, we had two jobs. One,” Shayne tapped a finger against her arm, “Escort water trucks to the town and supply the populace. Two,” He tapped two fingers, “Provide security to the engineers while they fixed the station.”

Shayne cracked a small smile as he veered just a little off-topic, “Damien always went above and beyond. While we filled up buckets of water and organized the Afghans into lines, Damien was doing humanitarian work. With the help of an interpreter he gave medical assistance to anyone that needed it. Kids with infected cuts from a nasty fall, women with morning sickness, guys with chronic headaches – he gave them whatever they needed.”

“What about Billy?” Courtney asked.

“Billy was a Scout Sniper like me, so he avoided the crowds. Provided overwatch while I managed the water distribution. But between you and me,” His eyes crinkled from his genuine smile. “The last time Billy helped with the water, a goat bit him in the ass and tore off part of his pants. We were laughing at him, the civvies were laughing at him – hell, I think the goat was laughing at him too.”

Courtney giggled at the vivid mental image. “I think if that happened to me, I’d be right up there with Billy away from the goats.”

Shayne’s laugh was short, but mirthful. She loved the sound of it. But the joy didn’t last. This was a prelude to a darker story after all.

“During the last deployment… Kandahar was different. Damien was already back stateside, so it was just Billy, Schoonover, and the rest of my men.” Shayne couldn’t meet her eyes once more. It was a telltale sign that this clawed at him from his very core. “We saw as much combat in those six months as my entire career. Schoonover had us hitting enemy positions almost daily. I realize now that a lot of the hits were heroin seizures.”

Shayne’s lips were parted, moving the slightest bit as he seemed to gather the words together. With sorrow in his eyes, he told her, “One of the other units – one of Schoonover’s – was chasing down a small group of fighters. We moved to intercept and lit them up as soon as we ID’d them. When we checked the bodies, they didn’t have any weapons,” He let out a low sigh, “The other unit claimed that they ditched their rifles so they could run faster.”

“They were witnesses?” Courtney guessed.

“Looking back, I’m sure they were. Schoonover’s dirty men seized heroin for his operation, those folks saw it and tried to get away.” Disgust was thick in his voice when he said, “Schoonover turned us into his own personal hitmen.”

“You were lied to,” Courtney told him, “You couldn’t have known.”

“And you were backed into a corner and didn’t see any way out but emptying that gun.” Shayne’s eyes found hers once more. “The fact that you’re conflicted says enough. You’re not a monster.”

It was always easy with Shayne. All the hardships and dangers they endured were a challenge. But together in the safety of her bedroom, being with him was easy. Listening to his reassurances was easy. She actually believed the words he whispered to her.

Courtney still felt like a killer, but for the first time in years, she felt as though she could live with it. It didn’t define her.

She melted back into his hold. Her head tucked back into the crook of his neck. For such a wall of muscle, Shayne was unfathomably comfy to snuggle up to. Courtney didn’t want to let go any time soon.

As if he’d read her mind, Shayne cautioned to ask, “Should I go-”

“Stay,” Courtney used the same words he had in that hospital room so long ago, “Please.”

Shayne didn’t need to be told twice. He shifted for a moment to join Courtney under the covers. Their legs brushed together as he adjusted the pillow next to hers. The movement sent a little tingle throughout her body. She tried not to be so obvious in how she reacted to him.

Fighting the little smile on her face was futile. “Is this okay?”

Shayne appeared to be taking it all in. He was blinking, as if trying to make sure he wasn’t imagining things – confirming he was actually climbing into bed with her (platonically, of course). He lied down fully, resting his head on the pillow. With a sigh, he confirmed, “Yeah. Sorry if I wake you again.”

Courtney let out a giggle, because she had to say the same, “And sorry if I wake _you_.”

They held each other’s gazes for a few breathless seconds. This was foreign territory for them both. They were shattering boundaries left and right but sleeping in the same bed was a new level of intimacy. It was something Shayne hadn’t had since Nicole, and that realization made Courtney’s heart ache for him.

Courtney felt the need to break the tension, so she nonchalantly said, “Night, babe.”

It startled a little huff of laughter out of Shayne. His lopsided smile twinkled in the moonlight, and it took an ungodly amount of restraint not to kiss him then and there. He rolled his eyes and turned his back to her. Not so much to reject her, but to simply get comfortable. Courtney was assured of this when he inched towards her until his broad back pressed against her side.

Courtney resisted the urge to make him the little spoon. For now, this was more than enough.

A quiet, “Good night, Court,” Was the last she heard from Shayne that night.

Neither of them was disturbed from their peaceful slumber by nightmares. It was the best sleep Courtney had gotten in months.

It was made all the better when she woke the next morning. The sun peered in through her curtains and illuminated Shayne’s messy head of hair. His beard was tickling her skin. They must’ve shifted closer at some point in the night, because now they were a mess of tangled limbs – arms wrapped around each other this way or that, legs intertwined – Courtney wasn’t sure where she began and Shayne ended.

She wouldn’t have it any other way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Good Lord, this was another chapter I really didn't expect or plan to be long, but it just sort of happened. I hope you guys don't mind. Let me know how you liked this one! We've got some The Line We Built vibes with the platonic sleeping together, but now they've skipped the sofa completely! I hope you enjoyed this next little stepping stone in the deepening of their relationship and their quite heavy pillow talk. Stay tuned to see how the plot and their relationship progresses!
> 
> This is a little peek behind the curtain, but I just wanted to say I've mapped out the final chapters. The past couple, I've been kind of stumbling blind, which is part of why they've been long and maybe a little scattered. Now I have a pretty clear idea of the flow and pacing. We've got just under 10 chapters to go depending on how long each one turns out. The end is in sight, and it's kinda surreal, but I'm relieved to have direction again. I hope you guys enjoy the final arc of this story.


	29. You Got That Over There?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lewis struggles with his PTSD. Shayne battles his grief with Courtney's help.

“Twenty-five years,” Keith said, “With the possibility of parole in ten. Not to mention she ain’t gonna be seen workin’ with the government or the law ever again.”

Shayne found it a tad nostalgic having their little group complete once more. Keith, Noah, Olivia, Courtney, and himself were all gathered in her apartment, crowding the dining table. The lawyers had been in contact with Tower all day and night yesterday and now had all the information. All of it was being relayed to Shayne and Courtney over a few cups of afternoon coffee.

“You better not suffocate Reyes with a pillow,” Noah warned Shayne with a finger in his direction. Shayne raised his hands up in surrender.

“As fun as that sounds, don’t worry about it. I’ll behave.”

“Good. You better.” Olivia was equally stern, but Shayne didn’t blame them. They knew all too well how easily and eagerly he could make short work of the former district attorney.

Courtney just knocked her knee against his and flashed him a smile, as if to say _don’t take it personally_. Shayne didn’t. Leak and Grossman’s collective ability not to take any shit from him or fear him in the slightest was always refreshing.

They went on to discuss the next steps Tower planned to take. As part of her guilty plea and reduced sentence, Reyes was giving up everyone who had knowledge of the coverup. Tower would press charges against them. The evidence Reyes willingly gave up would help convict them as well. For once, it was all going smoothly. All that it was missing was a nice bright red ribbon on top.

Courtney scribbled notes down as they talked. She’d be able to use some of Reyes’ statements as supporting evidence for her article. The article that hadn’t been written but already inadvertently led to them sharing a bed the night before.

It was still surreal to Shayne. When he woke with Courtney tangled up in his arms, he had to pinch himself just to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. This was exactly like the idle vignettes he imagined in prison – the thoughts he conjured to keep himself sane at his lowest points.

But it wasn’t a figment of his imagination. Courtney was really there stirring in his arms and greeting him good morning with a beautiful smile. He kissed her forehead then without really thinking about it. She was precious to him and he was acutely aware of the lengths he’d go to keep her safe.

There wasn’t much more in their current meeting that concerned him. He learned of Reyes’ fate, and it was satisfactory enough. So as they discussed the nitty gritty details with Courtney, Shayne half-listened and killed time flipping through Google Maps. He planned out the alternate routes Courtney could take to work. He checked out the different coffee shops (he avoided the hipster ones) he could hole up in to study while waiting for her to finish work. He also considered the distance from Smosh to his own apartment – a decent walk away, so he had an alternative.

A shopping list was drawn up as well for all the locks he wanted to install or reinforce. The value of long, sturdy screws was often underrated by most people. It was the difference between kicking a door in or dislocating a knee.

After the team was all done, they split off with an abundance of hugs all around. Courtney and Shayne hit up the closest hardware store to stock up on all the materials they needed to fortify her apartment. Shayne could tell Courtney felt it was a bit excessive, based on the amused frown she wore while reading his to-buy list. Yet she didn’t say a word about it and neither did he. A healthy dose of paranoia never did his Marines wrong, and it wouldn’t to Courtney either.

For the rest of the day, they worked together to turn her apartment into a mini fortress. It was tiring but rewarding work. They parted after having dinner since they didn’t plan to start rooming together until after the article went up. Shayne tried not to think too much of how cold and empty his bed was without Courtney by his side. After having a taste of their cohabitation being a reality, it was jarring to go back to being alone. He took comfort in the fact they’d be together again soon enough.

* * *

Shayne continued attending group with Damien. On this particular day, Lewis wasn’t doing well.

“There’s nothing _friendly_ about friendly fire,” Lewis mused aloud. Shayne could tell his sleeping was getting worse. He had a wild look in his eye that reminded Shayne of himself – bloodshot, unable to settle down. His hands were either rubbing together or scratching along his buzzed hairline. If he wasn’t crossing and uncrossing his restless legs, they were bobbing up and down.

“We just cleared out a machinegun nest. Our radio guy didn’t get to report that up to the Apache helicopters,” Lewis chewed his lip for a moment, “They hit some of our own.”

Shayne blew a quiet sigh out. Friendly fire, blue on blue, whatever you want to call it – it was more common than people thought, as bad as that might sound. The battlefield is one of the most confusing places to be in the world. It took an ungodly amount of communication across different units to make sure nobody ended up in each other’s crosshairs.

“It’s war, right? Shit happens,” Lewis grumbled. “But then I saw the press officer pass it off to the reporters as an enemy ambush.”

“Lying pricks,” O’Connor spat. Shayne didn’t have a retort for that. It was bullshit through and through.

“Those men were trained. They were good at their jobs. They would _not_ get caught in an enemy ambush. It was a lie.” Lewis’ breathing was heavy. “When I dream, it’s me that got hit by our helo. It’s me that they lie about – make me look like an asshole who’s bad at my job. Like it was all for nothing.”

With a heavy shrug, Lewis stammered, “I don’t – I don’t trust them. The media. How – how can we trust them to report the truth when they can’t even tell the world how those men really died? What do we do when we can’t trust our own?”

O’Connor was quick to say, “Take matters into our own hands!”

Before he could go on his political rant, Damien cut in. “You know, I think O’Connor’s got a point here-”

“You’re damn right I do!”

“We _do_ have to take matters into our own hands. We aren’t the only soldiers to feel let down by the country we served.” Damien rubbed at his stubble in thought, “A good friend risked his life to save mine.”

Shayne pointedly avoided looking at Damien as he told his story, “I decided not to throw away that gift he gave me. I took things into my own hands. Got home, got a new job, started my second life.”

“How do you get past that?” Lewis asked. “You make it sound so simple.”

“There was a guy I knew – big guy, Navy SEAL. On the outside, he looked fine. Real tough, no nonsense type. On the inside,” Damien blew out a sigh, “He was hurting. He lost people over in Iraq and was hung up over that. He wasn’t sure how to move on with civilian life.”

Shayne listened in as he fiddled with his coffee cup. Damien continued, “I told him two things. One, he had to stop obsessing over all the details beyond his control, all the external factors, all the could’ve, would’ve, should’ve. He had to focus on the things he could control _now_ in the present. He had to take matters into his own hands and get his life together without blaming other things.”

“And those guys he lost – shit, I think we all know what it feels like to lose people,” Damien let out a humorless chuckle, “I told him they’re the reason he needs to take control over his life. They are why he needs to start living again. As the ones who were able to come home, it is our _duty_ to lead our best lives for the men and women who can’t do that anymore.”

It stuck a chord within Shayne. He tried not to let it show much, save for the little frown fixed on his face.

Nicole and Lizzy wouldn’t want him to be a wallowing asshole. They would want him to, as Damien said, lead his best life now that they were gone. Shayne had held that notion in his heart ever since that last dream Nicole visited him in. Hearing Damien so concisely put it into words was a powerful reminder.

The meeting went on. One of the other veterans mentioned the feeling of abandonment upon returning stateside. The jarring normalcy you had to adapt to while nobody around knew of the internal battle you were facing. There was no recognition of who you were or what you did.

“I didn’t get a thank you,” O’Connor scoffed. “I got the finger. They didn’t care about vets then, and they sure as hell don’t now. But,” He reached into his pocket and pulled a little medal free, “The VP pinned a Silver Star on me.”

Damien appeared unable to contain his irritation at this point. “Is that why you served? Looking for gratitude?”

O’Connor glared at him but ignored the question. As he pocketed the medal, he spun his tale, “April 1968, west of Tam Ky – I killed thirteen of those Vietcong with their own grenades. I got that medal _for gallantry in action_.”

With a scoff, he told the room, “You guys got no idea how good you got it. Anybody who needs a thank you is a goddamn pussy!”

Shayne set his cup on the ground so he could wring his hands together in the effort to contain the bubbling irritation. He looked to Damien, almost as if to cue him to put the idiot in his place. Damien in turn cleared his throat and answered, “I don’t think anyone here _needs_ a thank you. But it’s not wrong to feel as though they _earned_ it after all the things they went through.”

At O’Connor’s eyeroll, Damien prompted him, “Why’d you fight? What motivated you for your,” He raised a hand up to make air quotes, “Gallantry in action?”

“Just doin’ my duty,” O’Connor replied with a smirk.

“Then why are you so angry about it? You were just doing your job,” Damien motioned to the veterans around them, “Like we all did. So why come here?”

O’Connor seemed taken aback at first by Damien’s forwardness. Shayne felt it was fitting. In all the sessions he’d attended, O’Connor was never anything but antagonistic and spouting radical rhetoric. He needed help, but not for recovering from the trauma of his service.

With a careless shrug, O’Connor answered, “I thought these guys needed to hear the alternative. They already got _mommy_ holding their hand,” He motioned towards Damien, “I’m here to toughen ‘em up. Send ‘em out there, out into the real world.”

Damien was rubbing a tired hand across his face as the tirade went on. “The real world that does _not_ give a shit about us! Where _real_ Americans are put at the back of every goddamn line!” It drew an uneasiness up from Shayne’s gut when O’Connor looked towards Lewis as he spoke, “Words aren’t gonna win this fight.”

The stirring within was amplified further when Lewis was stopped by O’Connor on the way out towards the end of the meeting. He shoved a pamphlet into Lewis’ hands and spoke in a hushed voice, “Read this, kid. You’re right to feel betrayed. This touchy-feely bullshit ain’t gonna help anyone. It’s time for action.”

Lewis pocketed the pamphlet and nodded in recognition but said nothing.

* * *

It wasn’t long after that last group meeting when Damien summoned Shayne over the phone. Lewis was in a bad place, mentally. Shayne had suspected as much after the last meeting. The young veteran was always looking a whole different level of tired, and ten different shades of conflicted. Accepting O’Connor’s propaganda likely hadn’t helped. He was a bad influence that a troubled and conflicted man like Lewis didn’t need.

Today seemed to be a culminating point of sorts – all the lack of sleep, internal demons, and frustration came to a head here. Lewis had been having another PTSD-fueled nightmare when his father arrived home. In the thick haze immediately after waking from the horrors of his mind, Lewis acted on instinct. He fired the gun tucked under his pillow, missing his father by inches. Lewis unloaded the gun and tossed it away instantly. Father and son hugged it out as the latter broke down from the close call.

It was Lewis’ father who called Damien about what had happened. The incident led Lewis to digging a foxhole in their backyard and designating it as his new home.

Shayne and Damien arrived at the Wilson residence then. The hole was fairly large and about seven feet deep. If a car drove over it, it’d fall down, sides flushed against the soil with little breathing room. The bottom of the foxhole was lined with a thick tarp. A matching tarp was setup overhead to provide shade and shelter from the springtime rain. Countless sandbags (or soil bags, rather) were piled around the hole’s perimeter.

Lewis was sitting in the hole in an Army jacket, jeans, and combat boots fit for the desert. His dog tags reflected the afternoon sun. A cleaned and oiled rifle leaned against one dirt wall. There were some other effects in the hole, personal or otherwise – a sleeping bag, a radio, a shovel, an emergency light, newspapers, NRA pamphlets, two thermoses, and a handful of MRE packs. Lewis busied himself scribbling down on a notebook. He looked up at their approach, then back to his writing.

“Siri told me we’re expecting rain this afternoon,” Damien commented aloud.

“Don’t bother me.” Lewis shrugged without looking up at them.

“You want us to leave?” Shayne asked with another step closer to the hole.

“No,” Lewis clarified with another shrug, “I mean the rain. It don’t bother me. That’s why I got the tarp.”

Shayne and Damien exchanged looks before coming to a silent agreement to avoid beating the bush.

“Your dad gave us a call,” Damien lowered himself to the ground slowly. His feet, both prosthetic and otherwise, dangled into the hole.

Shayne mimicked Damien’s casual approach to it and eased down next to him. “He told us what happened.”

With a sigh, Lewis shut his notebook and set it down on his sleeping bag. He leaned back against the dirt wall. “It was an accident.”

“A fender bender is an accident, Lewis. Discharging a firearm is a bit more than that.”

Damien added on, “While there’s no doubt you didn’t mean to do that,” He took a breath, “We want to work to prevent something that drastic from happening again.”

“It’s no big thing,” Lewis avoided their gazes as he brushed them off.

“If it’s no biggie, why are you sitting in a hole in the middle of April?” With a little smile to break the tension, Shayne added, “It’s gonna be colder than a witch’s tit tonight. Rain won’t be fun either.”

Lewis cracked a smile, but it was gone in moments, almost as if Shayne had imagined it. “I don’t think I’ll have nightmares out here.”

Shayne felt like an idiot for not making the connections sooner. He was recreating conditions from his deployment in the hopes that it would help him cope better. Damien appeared to have realized it as well. He prompted Lewis, “You think this will help?”

“I never should’ve seen that Army shrink,” Lewis’ voice was embittered. The dimness in his eyes spoke of the loss he felt from being forced to leave the service. “I’m better off out there, doc. Sand, noise, cold, heat – fifty guys stinking up a dorm – that shit never bothered me. I slept good, I slept fine. That was no problem.”

There was another unspoken moment that passed, communicated in glances and body movement alone between Shayne and Damien.

“Permission to enter the foxhole?” Shayne asked.

“You could use a corpsman if your ass catches a cold in here,” Damien quipped.

Lewis paused, but it appeared to be more out of surprise than hesitation.

“Welcome aboard.”

Shayne hopped in first then helped Damien lower himself into the hole. While it appeared roomy for one person, three was a bit of a crowd in the small foxhole. It didn’t take Damien long to pick a dirt wall and slide down against it to get comfy. Shayne instead acted like the pain in the ass staff noncommissioned officer he was.

“You call this a goddamn foxhole, Wilson?” Shayne turned on a mild version of his drill instructor voice, “You know what you got here that they don’t in the desert?”

“What?”

“Rain. You’re going to drown in your sleep without a sump for the water. Get that shovel,” Shayne motioned towards the tool in question, “Let’s dig a few feet deeper on this end.”

That was how Shayne and Damien spent a drizzly Monday in Lewis’ foxhole as a show of solidarity. While Damien’s story weeks ago of the soldier stuck in the hole was largely figurative, he and Shayne applied it literally. Damien sent Alice a message explaining the situation. Alice said she’d take a bottle of wine to bed to make up for his absence. Shayne likewise filled Courtney in, but more out of the need to share the strange turn of events. It’s not like he was coming home to her. Yet.

The rain came and went, and the little pit they dug proved effective in preventing a little flood. Evening rolled in, and they cracked open an MRE pack each.

It was a little bittersweet to crack these open in Lewis’ foxhole. Shayne had eaten his fair share of these during his hunt last year. The available menus were still fresh in his memory. They wound up drawing sticks to determine who was getting what, since Lewis had exactly three packs with him. Damien got the short stick and was forced to eat the dreaded creamy spinach fettucine, which tasted like gasoline. Shayne got the passable Asian style beef strips with vegetables, which had an almost believable oyster sauce mixed in. Lewis lucked out with a chicken burrito bowl, one of the crown jewels of the military’s MREs.

They swapped appetizers and desserts, as was tradition among the branches of the armed forces. Lewis traded his peanut butter for Shayne’s jalapeno cheese spread since it went well with his burrito. Damien swapped drinks with Lewis, preferring the sweet bite of a cold instant cappuccino over the tang of his tropical fruit punch.

The evening was spent chatting away, but Shayne didn’t miss how Lewis had grown more detached. Unlike their bender at Josie’s, Lewis wasn’t initiating conversation or biting onto their topics with enthusiasm. The talking mostly went back and forth between Shayne and Damien, who tried to rope Lewis in. For the most part, the young veteran fiddled with the dog tags around his neck and stared off at a nondescript point on the dirt wall.

At one point, Lewis had asked Damien, “And you got that over there, right?” His eyes went to the prosthetic as he took a deep breath, “Your leg.”

Damien pursed his lips for a second and repeated Lewis’ wording, “ _Got that over there_. You realize what you just said, right?”

Shayne watched the exchange with an uneasy rumble in his gut. Lewis’ growing disillusionment was hard to miss. Damien went on, “I didn’t _get_ anything from Afghanistan. I _lost_ my leg. On some Kandahar rooftop, there’s a size ten boot with my foot still in it.”

“You know what I meant, doc,” Lewis tried to brush it off.

Damien didn’t let it slide. “I know what you meant, Lewis. But I don’t think _you_ know what you meant. This,” His prosthetic gave a dull _thunk_ under his tap, “This isn’t some trophy I wear so everyone can see that I served. People don’t _get_ hooks for hands or half their faces burned off. They _lose_ them. They’re reminders of our worst days.”

“You look in the mirror, Lewis – what do you see? A soldier?” Damien asked.

With a grumble and a sigh, the young veteran answered, “Yeah.”

“Out on the streets, nobody sees that soldier. _Getting_ a dummy leg or half your face burned is going to make people see, sure – but at what cost?” With a concerned furrow of his brow, Damien told Lewis, “That’s not a mindset you should hold onto, buddy. That’s a dark road and nobody is getting out of that in one piece.”

Lewis mulled the words over. He was silent for some time after. Shayne steered their conversations to lighter ground, which eventually lured Lewis into speaking up again. The ease and camaraderie settled among their small group once more, at least for now. When it got late and there were yawns all around, they turned in. Lewis burrowed into his sleeping bag. Shayne and Damien shared a blanket and bunked together. It wasn’t anything they hadn’t done before while decked out in full combat gear.

The next morning, Lewis awoke sniffling up a storm as a result of the weather. They convinced him to compromise and move back into his house, substituting his frame and mattress for a military-style cot.

* * *

As Shayne adjusted to the new normal of his life, he saw Nicole and Lizzy in all the little things. He didn’t literally _see_ them, but he was reminded of them in so many things. When he closed his eyes, he could vividly picture them there with him. He could practically reach out to them and hold them if he tried.

He saw Nicole in every brunette woman who gave overly detailed instructions to baristas, then tipped them in excess after receiving their coffee. He saw Lizzy in the young girls waddling around in their oversized raincoats, playing in the puddles on the street. He saw them in the small families in line at the grocery, talking about whatever nonsensical fun that children had on their minds.

It was just one of those things he was learning to live with. Spending nearly a decade of marriage with someone before they got taken away from you – it was bound to leave years-worth of memories along with the scars.

On his good days, the dull ache in his heart was bearable. He could look back at the familiar memories, have a little melancholic smile, then move on. On his bad days, he sometimes physically paused whatever he was doing to process things. He’d shoot a doubletake at the mother and daughter walking by, bump into a newspaper stand, or nearly allow his car’s bumper to press a quick kiss to the vehicle ahead.

On his worst days, he had to call Courtney. She was his ever-reliable rock to cling onto throughout the toughest storms. Sometimes, when the lump in his throat was thick and immovable, Courtney did the talking. She filled him in on her day, both in little nuances and broad strokes.

When Courtney didn’t have a whole lot to say herself, she just worked in the background. Shayne would shut his eyes and tune in to the sounds – the clacking of her keyboard, the subtle drone of her office’s central air conditioning, voices of idle chatter in the background, Courtney’s steady breathing. They all allowed him the chance to center himself and get his act together.

It was that connectedness – the solidarity and companionship, the way she was always ready to help at a moment’s notice. It was what pulled him back from the brink. It kept him functioning normally.

Courtney had made it abundantly clear her line was always open whenever he had those little breakdowns. Just the same, Shayne did his best not to call unless he really needed to. There was no need to bother her too much. It was why he avoided phoning her up after his nightmares, which were still far too frequent. The poor lady would never get any sleep if he rang her up after every blood-soaked nightmare.

Today was one of the worse days. For most of the day, Shayne wasn’t sure why.

He woke up _late_ , which was highly unusual for him. He’d hit snooze at least thrice before getting up to stare at the empty space in bed next to him. The absence of cascading dark hair and a lazy contented smile were tugging at his heartstrings.

After meandering his way over to the kitchen, he opened up the refrigerator. He grabbed two cups of Macrogurt without really thinking about it, then realized the second cup would’ve gone to Lizzy.

He shoved the second cup back and then downed the first without much ceremony. The memories were hitting him earlier than usual and he needed to clear his head. Shayne put on some running clothes and was out the door in minutes. It was just his luck that he passed by a jogging couple. He overheard the woman groaning, “I hate running,” in a manner far too reminiscent of Nicole’s own gripes. It made Shayne run faster and push himself harder.

He'd worked up a thorough sweat and hopped into the shower once he got home. The water was scalding for the first few seconds, causing him to step back and hiss out a curse. He could hear Nicole’s laughter from the sink as she put her makeup on for the day. Then he could make out Lizzy calling from the next room over that she couldn’t find her socks.

Shayne ended up staying in today. He wasn’t keen on finding out how many more memories he could tug to the surface if he hung out at one of the coffee shops to study. He kept his head in the books for the rest of the day. The lectures and assignments were a welcome distraction.

It was late in the afternoon when the realization crept up on him. There was an ad online for discounted admission tickets to the Staten Island Zoo.

On their last day together, Shayne and Nicole kept insisting to Lizzy that they’d go to the zoo after the park. In reality, it was a little distraction to throw the kid’s suspicion off. They were actually going to a shelter to finally adopt a dog.

Shayne checked the date and confirmed. Today marked the one-year anniversary since the massacre.

It was getting dark by the time he arrived at the cemetery with several bouquets in hand. He’d never been here before up until today.

The graves were an endless sea of stone and marble dotting the greenery. It was sparsely packed at this hour since not a lot of people were in the state of mind he was. It was too spooky and all that shit.

Shayne found the graves with ease since he’d spoken to Courtney once about the funeral that they gave him. It was surreal seeing his own grave. There were inevitable fleeting thoughts that rose up to mind – that he should be down there with them, that he deserved to be dead and buried. The thoughts were a poison, dripping and spreading with malice throughout his head, intensifying his already taut emotions. He lacked the strength to banish the thoughts.

Yet seeing his own grave didn’t compare to laying eyes on Nicole and Lizzy’s simple light grey marble headstone. It knocked the air out of him like a fist to the gut. The tears were already stinging his eyes. When he first parked out front, he thought he might say a few words, but the massive lump in his throat prevented that. All he could do was slowly lay the bouquet down on their grave.

Shayne fell to his knees, sinking half an inch down through the damp soil. His hands ran across the surface of the smooth, cold stone. When the words caught in his throat broke free, so did the bawling, “I’m sorry.”

Shayne let it all out. The years and years-worth of memories sprung up. They clawed their way to freedom from the depths of his mind, leaving fresh scars with each vivid picture that saw the light. All the laughs they shared. The meals they bonded over. The arguments they endured. The games they played. The birthdays they celebrated. The letters they wrote him overseas. The love he made with Nicole. The bedtime stories he read Liz.

The tears trickled down harder and angrier at the memory of the final night, and the story he’d failed to read Lizzy.

There were a thousand different demons he had to battle off. They cropped up as the piercing grief and misery compounded. All the could’ve, should’ve, would’ve. All his failures as a husband and a father to protect his family. The nerve that he had to try and live a second life after they were taken away from him.

There was no rage and fire to lose himself in this time. No mission to throw himself at to distract himself from the heart wrenching loss and loneliness. Shayne let the grief take him, sobbing it all out in front of the graves.

It felt like hours had passed by the time the flow of tears had subsided. The quiet ache in his heart had reduced by a fraction. He found that talking helped. They were disjointed, rambling thoughts out loud more than anything. He rubbed at the wedding ring around his neck with his thumb and pointer finger as he spoke.

“Not a day goes by where I don’t see you two.”

They were part of him. He took them with him wherever he went. They lived on through his memories.

“I keep asking myself if I deserve this _after_ , but I feel like you’d just smack me on the head for asking.”

He always had a type. He liked a woman that could kick his ass whether literally or figuratively if he deserved it. Nicole wouldn’t tolerate his self-pity and wallowing. It was like how Courtney wouldn’t tolerate being pushed away.

“I, uh – I got the book here pulled up from Google. Should I read it to you?”

He did just that. Through the quiver in his voice, and the occasional stop to sniffle, he read One Batch, Two Batch a final time. He fulfilled Lizzy’s last wish, in the end.

By the time Shayne’s throat had dried up from his sobs and talking alike, he felt a weight had been lifted off his chest. Or at least, most of it. There wasn’t much time left until the cemetery closed. He didn’t need to get his mugshot taken over trespassing.

“I love you two. Nothing’s ever gonna change that.” With a kiss to the headstone and a promise that he’d visit more often, Shayne sought out the other two graves he was here for.

Billy’s was easy enough to find since Damien had talked once about visiting it. It was a dark sort of polished marble. A fancy headstone for a slick and stylish man. It had always been Billy’s goal after being discharged to get a job where he could wear fancy suits. Billy was a knockout and he knew it. He never failed to remind his friends of it either. He talked very loudly and very often, but Shayne loved that about him. He laid down the bouquet and let out a shaky breath.

“It’s been a while, brother.” Shayne licked his dry lips. “You were the reason I got out when I did. In Kandahar, when we were doing all those bullshit raids, you kept telling me – let’s get out while we’re ahead. I dunno what shit Schoonover would’ve gotten us into if I stayed any longer.”

Shayne set his hands down on the cold stone. His thumb brushed against the polished surface in loving strokes. “Only reason I’m standing here right now is because of you, Bill. I don’t know how you could tell that mortar was zeroed in but,” Shayne blew out a breath, “Saved my ass, Billy. I’m gonna do my best to keep the Russo name in high standing. It’s a good name,” He chuckled quietly, “ _Bradley Russo_. Still not sure about the first name, but you sure knew how to pick out the last name. You made that name yours, and you oh-so kindly dubbed me as an honorary Russo.”

With a sigh, Shayne gave the headstone a final pat, “I won’t let you down, Billy.”

Finding the last grave was more difficult. It took the help of the cemetery custodian, and Shayne had to promise he wouldn’t take long. The place was already closing.

Bell’s grave had flowers on it. Probably a day or two old, but they brought a smile to Shayne’s face. He quickly took note of a David Jr.’s headstone just next to it. It likewise had recently been given flowers.

“Hey, Bell. Probably didn’t expect to see my sorry ass tonight, huh?” Shayne wore a sad smile as he set the bouquet down, “I’ve been, uh – working on this whole _after_ stuff you were talking about. I’m done…” Shayne craned his head to make sure the custodian was out of earshot, “I’m done punishing. That’s behind me.”

“As you so eloquently put, I’m finding that _pot o’ gold at the end o’ the shit-stained rainbow_.” Shayne stared at the grey slab of stone. It reminded him of Bell’s salt and pepper stubble. “I think you’ll be happy to know _Blondie_ is doing okay. We’re doing good. You told me once, when I find that pot of gold or _after_ or whatever,” He heaved a shrug to himself, “Hold on with two hands. Don’t let go.”

Blonde hair and green eyes were on his mind as he told him, “I’m holding on, Bell. I’m working on it.”

Shayne gave the headstone a firm pat before stepping back, “We hardly knew each other, but what you did – shit,” He let out a humorless laugh, “You’re my brother, Marine. I won’t forget that.”

His head turned to David Jr.’s grave, then back to Bell’s. “Semper Fi. Both of you.”

Shayne left the cemetery feeling considerably lighter. The burden of it all had eased off his chest for the most part. Now he just felt drained and empty. Sleep sounded like the most wonderful thing in the world right now.

Before Shayne started the car, he checked his phone. He’d kept it on silent for most of the day.

**Courtney:** You doin’ okay? You’ve been real quiet today.

On the days they didn’t meet, they usually texted back and forth at random intervals. They talked about anything and everything. Sometimes it was just to send one dumb meme or another. Other times it was to check in or talk about their day. Shayne realized he’d unintentionally ignored a few of her messages, both during his dive into studying, and while wallowing in the cemetery.

His fingertips were tapping out a message before he could second guess himself.

**Bradley:** It’s been rough. Come over?

For the most part, it mattered little whose apartment they met up in. But tonight, Shayne wanted his family’s photo close by.

**Courtney:** I’ll be there soon.

The clear roads were what made it occur to Shayne it was getting late. Most people were already home or hunkered down for their night shift at this hour. The drive was a short one, leaving Shayne little time to ruminate on his thoughts. He parked and made his way to his front door in no time.

The light was already on within his apartment. While it would usually be cause for drawing his gun, tonight it just meant Courtney arrived before he did. Shayne unlocked the door and stepped in.

“I hope you don’t mind, I just let myself in. Wasn’t keen on hanging around in the hallway for…” Courtney trailed off at the sight of him. Even Max tilted his head at Shayne. While Courtney looked newly showered with her somewhat damp hair and fresh clothes, Shayne looked like a mess. His boots and jeans were caked in mud, and his shirt was all ruffled from being rubbed at his tear-streaked face. He didn’t have a mirror, but Shayne didn’t need one to know his eyes were still puffy and his nose was still a bright pink.

Shayne bent down to unlace his boots as Courtney’s gaze bore into him with equal parts scrutiny and concern. Max hopped off the Färlöv first to scurry on over to his side. He sniffed at Shayne’s muddy boots before pawing at his leg. Shayne paused to give Max a good petting before resuming work on his boots. Courtney was up not long after. As he toed his second unlaced boot off, Courtney’s hands came to rest on his shoulders.

Shayne was tired beyond words. The emotional drain of the day was far more exhausting than any rucking he’d done with sixty pounds of gear on his back. He felt a little foolish for asking Courtney to come over when he couldn’t muster up the energy to talk to her. In the haze that hung over him, he just wanted to feel her comforting presence close by.

He forced himself to settle his bleary eyes on her – to stop them from darting around like a cornered animal. Courtney was looking him up and down with a furrowed brow. She squeezed his shoulders and asked, “What’s goin’ on?”

“Can we…” Shayne licked his lips. He knew what he wanted tonight. There was no other way to say it. “Go to bed?”

There was a quirk at the corner of her lips as she nodded. There was no hesitation. No second guessing. Only acceptance and understanding. “Do you have something for me to wear?” Courtney glanced at her gym bag on the couch. Sheepishly, she said, “I didn’t come prepared.”

Shayne later handed Courtney a spare shirt and some joggers that were _definitely_ oversized for her. He let her change in his bedroom while he slipped into the bathroom. Shayne shed his filthy clothes and paused before stepping into the shower.

Courtney left a hair tie hanging around his sink faucet from one of the last times she was over. He’d washed his hair after his run this morning. Now he wanted nothing more than to pass out tangled up with Courtney. A wet head of hair would be bothersome. So, he bit the bullet and pulled his hair up into a manbun before stepping into the shower.

It was hot, which was a welcome change, even if the sudden shift in temperature elicited a sharp gasp. The late evening chill was washed away by the comforting steamy warmth of his shower. He washed off all the mud that clung to his figure from being a wallowing asshole in the dirt. By the time he finished, he almost felt like a new man. An emotionally broken and drained man – but at least a clean one, Shayne mused. He changed into a comfy pair of shorts and a loose white shirt.

Shayne stepped into the bedroom to find Courtney sitting on his bed, looking comfortable. Looking like she belonged here.

And she did.

Max had claimed a spot on the lower portion of the bed, similar to the last time. Courtney was rubbing the overgrown pup’s belly as his tongue lolled out to one side, looking like the very definition of contentedness.

It was only in that moment Shayne realized Courtney was less clothed than he expected. Her long, toned legs poked out from underneath the sizeable shirt he’d given her. The joggers lay discarded on his bedsheet. Before he could wonder what those tantalizing legs felt like wrapped around him, he tore his eyes away from her skin and up to her face. She was smiling at him, presumably at the knot his hair was tied up in.

“God, you’re such a hipster. But it works.”

Shayne huffed out a laugh but was too tongue-tied to respond. Courtney seemed to catch on quick to his fumbling words and pink face. She looked down at her legs, then back up at him. “Dude, no way is this fitting on me,” She nudged the clothing in question, “But the shirt’s long, so it’s fine.”

He couldn’t argue with that. They’d already spent one night as a mess of tangled limbs. Courtney being pants-less hardly seemed like a major modification to their setup. To avoid contemplating it further, Shayne went about switching off the lights. At least under the cover of darkness, he wouldn’t see those endless legs that made his face as red as a ripe tomato.

Clambering into bed with Courtney was different from the first time. There’d been a little more hesitation then as they waded into unfamiliar waters. Now there was no pretense. They slipped under the covers together like it was second nature. There was no beating around the bush or asking this time.

After Shayne tugged his hair free from the messy bun, he reached for Courtney. Her response was automatic in how she melted into his touch. Their legs brushed up against one another. There was a sort of heart aching intimacy to it that the first night lacked. Shayne figured it had to do with the bare skin of her legs tenderly brushing against his own in deliberate motions. Their arms wrapped each other tight as they pressed together. They fit perfectly. Like two pieces of a puzzle finally finding their match.

From where she lied wrapped up with Shayne, she craned her neck. Her lips pressed a slow kiss to his bearded jawline. Then, she shifted a little to press a second to his cheek. Shayne closed his eyes, tuning in to the feeling of her face nuzzling against his own. Courtney whispered, as if in respect of the sanctity of silence in his bedroom. “Was it today?”

Courtney was always the brightest – whether referring to her intuition or her uncanny ability to light up the darkness of his life.

Shayne exhaled out a long sigh through his nose. The slow breath helped keep the latent storm within from breaching the surface once more. He confirmed, “Yeah.”

With how they held each other, Shayne didn’t think they could get any closer. Clearly, Courtney didn’t share this view. She shifted and shuffled around to press against him completely. Her chest was flushed against his. One of her legs eased over his own to wrap around him. Her fingertips danced along his skin with caring strokes. One hand came to a stop by the nape of his neck, where she played with the tips of his hair. It was like Courtney was trying to keep every inch of herself connected to him. If that weren’t the most heartachingly caring gesture he’d been shown in recent memory, he didn’t know what was. It was enough to make him teary eyed.

“I’m so sorry.”

They were silent for a long while. Wrapped up in each other’s arms, it was easy to lose track of time. Nothing but the sound of their breathing and Max’s snoring filled the space. Yet no matter how tired and drained Shayne felt, sleep didn’t come. As sore as his eyes had gotten, and how just _existing_ felt like a taxing chore, he couldn’t drift off. It wasn’t unlike the long stints overseas where they had to fight for hours to repel the enemy. Even during the breaks in the shooting, nobody could get more than a minute of shuteye.

Courtney hadn’t knocked off either. At some point, she’d pressed Shayne’s face into the crook of her neck while she cradled his head. He’d never admit it out loud, but it was the comfiest thing imaginable.

Ever the problem solver, Courtney asked, “Want me to tell you about my day?”

“Yeah.”

And so, Courtney talked – or whispered, rather. Her progress on the article was coming along nicely. She intended to publish it within the week, which meant Shayne would be temporarily moving in soon. Her coworkers also still firmly held the belief that she had a boyfriend she was hiding. Courtney was staunchly denying this, even if nobody in the office believed her.

“Hm,” Shayne hummed, “Better not let them see us like this then – ow!”

Shayne rubbed the sore spot Courtney had pinched. He couldn’t glare at her from his current position, so he let it slide.

Without much other interesting happenings at work, she got to talking about Judo. It explained why she’d been carrying a gym bag and looked fresh from the showers. They were due for their next class together on Saturday, but Courtney still trained during the weekdays. Shayne was still too paranoid of being recognized, so he limited the exposure he got.

Courtney smugly relayed that she was queen of the hill in tonight’s class. Two students take the mats and spar until scoring a pin or a submission. The loser is subbed out with a fresh fighter until the winner is knocked off the throne. Tonight, Courtney had been the proud champion of their small class, having lasted the longest before being dethroned.

As much as he enjoyed seeing Courtney victorious, he could never pass up the opportunity to tease her. “Did you talk smack in all of their ears too?”

Her soft giggle filled the air. Then with a hum, she asked, “Why? Jealous?”

Shayne cracked a smile. He blamed it on the exhaustion that he didn’t have a comeback ready. Courtney followed up by cooing in his ear, “Don’t worry, only you get that special treatment.”

_Punish me._

Shayne banished the thought before his mind could take it to the gutter. It didn’t stop a small wave of goosebumps from running along his body.

Teasing aside, it all did the trick. Her soothing voice was enough to lull him into a newfound feeling of sleepiness. A large yawn escaped his mouth before he could reel it in. Then, he pressed a quick peck to Courtney’s neck (since it was all he could reach from his position). “Go to sleep, dummy.”

Courtney stifled a yawn of her own as she retorted, “You’re the dummy.”

Shayne was already peacefully drifting off when he mumbled back oh-so wittily, “No, you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Please let me know what you thought of this chapter, I love hearing from you guys! I hope you enjoyed this one. I wanted a good mix of angst, fluff, and nudging this next arc along. I've got big plans and I'm excited to share the upcoming developments with everyone. You all have a great day now!


	30. A Mouthful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shayne pops a question. Courtney joins him in revisiting his old house.

Back in the Corps, Shayne went through a few weeks of cross-training with the Army. They had some of the best Explosive Ordnance Disposal guys in the world, and the Marines could learn a lot from them. Out in the field, things could get hairy fast, and you couldn’t always rely on a specialized EOD team to take out a suspected explosive. Sometimes, they had to get their hands dirty themselves.

Once the theoretical stuff was out of the way, the EOD teams got them doing practical and hands-on training. As part of their _graduating rites_ , and some sort of cross between hazing and a test, they had to disarm a live, albeit small explosive device. All the necessary precautions were in place – bomb suits, thick concrete walls – if the student messed up, their ears would probably be ringing for the better part of two days, but they’d live, as would anyone else observing. These were the kinds of things the EOD teams did overseas that they couldn’t back home. It was an effective teaching tool, as terrifying as it was.

Billy was shouting for half a week as a result of his shot hearing when he screwed up the defusal. Shayne passed his own test fine, but the bomb suit was soaked with sweat by the end of it. He could never forget how the wire cutters nearly slipped out of his clammy hands. Or how the thunderous pounding of his panicking heart was heard all the way in his ears – loud enough to drown out the sporadic gunfire the EOD teams were laying down as a distraction, like a simulation of what an actual defusal would be like in the field.

That test was a whole different level of nerve-racking anxiety. Shayne’s nerves were seldom ever wrecked as badly again, not even when he carved a path through the enemy in the mountains all by himself. The next time was on the C-130 plane ride home. His leg was bouncing up and down the whole time, waiting for life to throw one final curveball at him – which it did, but it happened to be _after_ he reunited with his family. The next time he felt such powerful apprehension was when he realized Schoonover was the Blacksmith – he nearly threw up when the danger Courtney was in became apparent.

Tonight, Shayne was at that level of nervous. For the life of him, he couldn’t tell his heart to calm the fuck down. Or for his anxious hands to stop twitching or sweeping his messy hair back into place.

His eyes were locked onto the boiling pot of pasta on Courtney’s stove. It was easier focusing on that, and the few minutes he had left before he had to remove it from heat. Easier at least, than mustering up the courage to talk to Courtney.

The woman in question was singing under her breath, along to the music playing from her speakers. Her hips gave a gentle sway where she stood, chopping garlic without a care in the world.

Courtney’s article was going live tomorrow. Starting tonight, they’d be rooming together for about a month, at least until the fanfare of her writing died down. The home-cooked pasta was a little celebration for both their live-in situation and the article.

Shayne kept busy and added a little more salt to the bubbling pasta water as his thoughts consumed him.

He was a grown-ass man. He’d been married once before. He’d been a father. He’d served in the Marine Corps. He’d looked death in the eye on multiple occasions and came out the victor.

He was overreacting.

This shouldn’t be _this_ nerve-wracking. This was Courtney he was trying to talk to.

Shayne glanced over his shoulder to look at her. She had an easy smile on her face as she handled the knife. The warm lighting of her kitchen shone down to light up her blonde hair with an alluring glow. Her shapely body moved with the music in a manner that was equal parts goofy and adorable.

The heat was creeping up to his cheeks when he turned back to the pot of pasta.

He was _not_ overreacting.

This was nerve-wracking _precisely_ because this was Courtney standing a few feet from him.

The question had already gotten caught in his throat earlier that evening when he first arrived. The initial strategy was to just spit the words out right at the door. Hell, he even bought her a bouquet of white roses. She was so enamored by them; he hadn’t been able to get a word in. Once Courtney gave him the chance to speak up, he was too tongue-tied to say anything. There was a lame excuse of _oh, I just wanted to get you something nice since I’m moving in for a bit_.

Shayne glanced over to the bouquet of roses now at home in a vase on one windowsill. Just then, the shrill ring of the kitchen timer went off. It nearly sent Shayne jumping out of his skin in surprise.

“Jeez, dude,” Courtney laughed, “Ease up on the coffee. I haven’t seen you this twitchy since Metro-General.”

Shayne tried to brush off his frayed nerves. “Didn’t expect the timer to be that loud.”

He removed the pasta from heat and got to work. Courtney shut the timer off and began simmering the sauce on the stove. She made space by easing him to the side with a hand on his back. Taking a nonchalant tone, she spoke up, “So, you gonna be on edge all night, or you gonna tell me what’s up?”

Courtney didn’t need her uncanny ability to read him like a book. He was doing a terrible job at keeping his jumpiness under wraps. Now that she was bringing it up, he had little room to retreat.

“It’s dumb,” Shayne downplayed it with a halfhearted scoff.

Courtney focused on stirring the sauce as the savory aroma filled the air. With a look his way and a sympathetic smile, she told him, “It’s not dumb if it’s got you worked up.”

“Damien’s wedding is at the end of the month.” Shayne explained. With a sigh, he added, “He insists I’m being booted off the guest list if I don’t bring you as my date. So… will you be my date?”

Courtney’s eyes widened at him, and her mouth hung open for a surprised couple of seconds. When she regained her bearings, she let out the softest laugh. Her cheeks were flushed a light pink when she gave him a dazzling smile. “Shayne, I’d love to go with you.”

Shayne let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. A fleeting wave of embarrassment washed over him – over the fact he’d been so damn nervous for no good reason. This was Courtney, who was exceedingly easy to be around. One of the few people left in the world that he could trust with his life. Going together to Damien’s wedding was a piece of cake compared to everything they’d been through.

He leaned in then to press a quick peck to her cheek. An apology she didn’t even know she was being given. His own hand slid across her lower back to rest around her waist.

“Thanks, Court.”

Courtney frowned at him ever so slightly. One of her shoulders bobbed up with a shrug. “It’s no biggie.”

He supposed perhaps it really was no biggie. He’d had the jitters you get asking a cute girl to prom, but cranked up to eleven.

Of course, this was his best friend’s wedding, not a dumb high school dance. Courtney wasn’t _just_ some cute girl, she was his –

Well, Shayne didn’t have a word for what Courtney was.

Tonight, and for the next few weeks, they were roommates. Bedmates too, since there was no way Courtney would let him take the couch again. Not after the last two times they slept over at each other’s apartments. Even if he tried to argue it out, Courtney would win the debate with ease. She was probably right, too. It was for the best. Otherwise they’d be waking each other up with their respective nightmares if they slept apart.

It wasn’t long before Courtney spoke up once more to ask, “You got a suit? I need to find a dress.”

The thought of Courtney in a nice dress was all his mind could process for a solid couple of seconds. He banished the thought with a shake of his head. Shayne cleared his throat and replied, “Not yet. I’ll probably just buy one.”

“Or you could save up on your stolen drug money,” Courtney suggested, “Swing by your old house. You’ve still got suits in that closet.”

It was a daunting thought. Shayne didn’t quite believe in ghosts, but the Topp residence was the most haunted thing in the world to him. There were enough memories in that home to drown him. Living his day-to-day life was bad enough with countless things reminding him of his past. Actually going to the home he spent years of his life in with Nicole and Liz – shit, his hands were already trembling at the idea.

“I, uh – there’s no need,” Shayne stammered, “I mean – y’know, there’s a lot of money left. Schoonover really-”

“I know it’s scary,” Courtney tapped off the wooden spoon on the edge of the pot. She set it aside to face him fully. “But it’ll be good to face it. You could pick up any old stuff while you’re there too.”

She rubbed her hands up and down his arms, fiddling with the fabric of his Henley. At his hesitant silence, Courtney added, “I’ll go with you.”

Shayne’s eyes went up from staring at her shoulder to really look at her. There was that lightness filling his chest. Lifting away the heavy weight that settled on him whenever he dwelled on his past. Courtney had a knack for that. She could break her back with all the burdens that she was always eager to help him carry.

“Okay,” Shayne finally smiled. “Sounds good.”

He never could say no to her.

* * *

They didn’t have plans the next morning. But their conversation the previous night was still fresh in their minds. It may have taken some reluctant groaning from Shayne, and Courtney wrapping herself around him, but they eventually agreed to go to the Topp residence.

Since Courtney’s article was being published, her bosses told her not to come in. Smosh would be swamped with journalists looking to interview her, so it was better she took the day off to avoid that stress.

When Shayne protested that they might be seen, Courtney assured him it would be fine. She still had her paralegal ID from Leak and Grossman, who were Shayne’s lawyers at the time of his _death_. If it came to it, Courtney was confident she could smooth talk her way out of it. Shayne supposed it was a good thing his neighbors were never particularly nosey either.

Once breakfast was out of the way, they hit the road. Shayne was silent for most of the drive. He couldn’t help being wrapped up in his head. It’d been a long year since he last set foot in that house. Shayne was grateful for Courtney’s support and understanding. She didn’t bug him while he ruminated. She just held his hand as she drove, occasionally giving him a supporting squeeze.

They parked just outside the humble two-story house. The American flag hanging out the front barely waved despite the morning wind. It was deathly silent. As still as the grave.

Courtney’s voice distracted him from his brooding. “You ready?”

“No, but I don’t think I ever will be,” Shayne sighed as he pulled off his seatbelt, “Let’s get this over with.”

“You set the pace, okay?” Courtney fixed him with a reassuring smile. “I’m with you. You’ll be fine.”

Shayne clasped his hands together to keep them from fidgeting. The memories were already hitting him. Instead of Max in the backseat, who was looking around curiously, it would be Lizzy, happy to be home. In Courtney’s place in the driver’s seat would be Nicole. She’d probably be teasing him over her superior parallel parking skills. Shayne would be rolling his eyes and reminding her he didn’t have much practice in the deserts or mountains, so he was rusty.

They disembarked from Courtney’s car. Max hopped out, tethered by the leash Courtney held. Since neither of them had the keys, they needed to go around back. Those keys had long since been lost in Metro-General when he was checked in for the gunshot wound to the head.

“What’s with the ribbon?” Courtney’s question caught his attention.

Shayne had nearly forgotten about that. On the single tree planted at the side of his property, a yellow ribbon was tied around the trunk. Max was sniffing the tree with interest. He got up on his hind legs to paw at the ribbon.

Ever since Shayne took that round to the head, the memories of his past were a tricky sort of thing. They weren’t clear in the conventional sense. They came at him like flashes. Vivid imagery and sensations – smells, tastes, sounds – some were easier to pick apart. Others were just that: disjointed and fragmented ideas and images.

This was one of those flashes. He could smell the damp earth, fresh from the rain. He could hear Lizzy’s laughter and enthusiasm to be tying up the ribbon. He could feel the fit of his clean and pressed fatigues before he shipped out. He could taste Nicole’s fruity lip balm in the parting kiss she gave him.

Then, he was grounded back in the present by Courtney’s hand on his back. He cleared his throat and explained, “When a Marine or soldier or anyone in the service ships out, their family ties up a yellow ribbon.”

“Couple meanings,” Shayne shrugged nonchalantly, “Support our troops, come back safely, we’re waiting for you to come home…”

Courtney gave a gentle tug on Max’s leash to keep him from pawing at it further. He obeyed and backed off. His short attention span had him sniffing the grass underfoot like it was the most interesting thing imaginable.

“It’s times like this that I’m glad this address never became public,” Shayne mused out loud, stepping back from the ribbon. He rubbed a thoughtful hand through his beard. “Vandals or copycats or admirers – I don’t need them messing with this place.”

“We’ll make sure it stays that way,” Courtney assured him as Max tugged on the leash to keep moving. Shayne led the way around to the back entrance.

The glass of the backdoor was shattered. It wasn’t a surprise by itself, but actually seeing the broken glass panes was a little jarring. Shayne looked over at Courtney, who smiled sheepishly. He found himself chuckling at her with a shake of his head. The door swung open to welcome them into the dining room and kitchenette. The stale, musty air wafted out, and Shayne scrunched his nose as he entered. Courtney filed in after him, while Max was freed of his leash and explored the room with curiosity.

The images were coming at him hard. He was powerless to stop his eyes from darting around the space, filling them with his ghosts.

Lizzy helping herself to Macrogurt from the fridge. Nicole toiling away over her food processor. The numerous aromas filling the air, thanks to Nicole’s culinary expertise. Their small family gathered around the dining table, laughing, and having a good time.

Nicole and Lizzy on the piano bench in the living room. The happy melody filling their happy home. The loving way his wife would run her hands through Lizzy’s hair as she worked the piano.

Damien sitting on the floor, playing with Lizzy and her large assortment of toys. The way Lizzy would ask why his hair was blue, and Damien would steadfastly try and convince her it was a natural hair color.

Bill giving Lizzy a piggyback ride – or a flight on the Billy-130 as he called it – and zooming around the house. The way Nicole would have to yell at Billy to slow down before he tripped or bumped Lizzy into something. Naturally, Billy was a clown and only went faster, much to Lizzy’s delight and Nicole’s frustration.

The clinking sound of ice against Schoonover’s glass of scotch. The deep rumble of his laughter. The embellished but child-friendly stories he’d tell Lizzy of his service alongside her daddy, and her uncles Billy and Damien. The way he fit in with their family so well before he decided his goddamn drug money was more important than their lives.

Shayne evened out his breathing, which had been starting to grow ragged.

It was over now. They were gone. He’d made his peace in the cemetery mere days ago.

They wouldn’t want him to be wallowing in misery like this. He had to lead his best life now, as Damien says, now that they couldn’t.

“You should take the cookbook home,” Courtney suggested.

Shayne turned to her to ask what she was talking about. He stopped when he caught sight of her. He always felt like an idiot staring at her, but he couldn’t help it. Whether in a blazer and heels or a denim jacket and sneakers, Courtney never failed to make him stop in his tracks. The lady was downright breathtaking in more ways than one.

There was something in the way she stood before him in his home. How it was so full of ghosts and heart wrenching memories, but her – no. Courtney was the complete opposite.

In his darker moments, Shayne felt like he was a black hole when he was brooding. By extension, his old house felt the same. It sucked all the happiness and light away, leaving nothing but the haunting memories and the heartbreaking echoes of the past within.

Courtney’s presence undid all those effects. She brought the light with her wherever she stepped. She got him talking about the good times with his family with an unprecedented ease. The very air felt clear and fresh around Courtney. As he looked at her, the morning sun finally shone through the windows to illuminate his home. Every dark and depressing shadow was banished when she was around. Shayne felt like he could breathe again. Like he was standing in any ordinary house to pick up some old suits, no biggie. The effect she had was almost supernatural.

She was no angel. Shayne already knew that. Courtney had emptied a magazine into a man and was capable of jamming sharpened toothbrushes into criminals’ necks. That didn’t change how he felt about her. If anything, it strengthened it. He wasn’t looking for some flawless angel. All he needed was someone who understood him. Someone who could forgive the things he’d done, since _he_ couldn’t.

“You okay?” Courtney never missed a thing. She approached him with slow, even steps.

“I’m just really glad you’re here,” Shayne admitted.

“Don’t get all sappy on me now, Shayne.” Courtney was quick to reply with a teasing smirk, but her light pink cheeks told another story.

Shayne followed her into the small kitchen just the same to see the cookbook in question. He’d nearly forgotten about the chiseled abs on the front of _The Shredded Chef_. He let out an amused snort as he reached for it, swiping dust off the matte cover. Courtney peeped over his shoulder while he briefly leafed through the pages.

“Recipes in here are pretty good,” Shayne recalled having tried a number of them. “We can try some back home.”

He felt Courtney’s hot breath on his neck when she let out a soft, delighted laugh. Her chin came to rest on his shoulder for a moment as she gave a little hum. It took Shayne a second to register what had prompted that reaction from Courtney.

Home.

“I mean – y’know,” Shayne stammered like the goof he was, “Back at your home.”

“It’s _our_ home while you’re living-in with me and keeping watch.” Her reply was honest. Earnest.

Shayne deflected the bubbling emotion in his gut. “Nicole’s parents were hardcore religious. You know what they’d call our situation?”

“What?”

“Living in sin.”

It earned a sharp laugh from Courtney as she stepped away from his shoulder. She wore a befuddled look as she protested, “We’re not even boning – what’s so sinful about that?”

Courtney’s unashamedly frank choice of wording sent a tingle along his spine, and heat rushing up his cheeks. Shayne licked his lips before cracking out, “Just sharing the bed before getting married is enough to get us a ticket to the witch’s pyre.”

“We should totally get married then,” Courtney deadpanned.

Shayne huffed a laugh, even as his heart quickened by a fraction. “You’re insane.”

“Think about it, if the world finds out you’re alive and you get brought back to the courthouse,” Courtney shrugged, “I’d have spousal privilege and can’t be made to testify against you.”

That actually made more sense than Shayne expected. He scrunched his face up anyway and gave a tentative shake of his head, “Courtney Ruth Miller-Russo? Bit of a mouthful don’t you think?”

“I can handle a mouthful,” Courtney winked at him.

Shayne’s legs just about gave way. He sputtered out a rough cross between a laugh and a scoff. If his face had been pink at her earlier insinuations, he was beet red now.

“Oh my _fucking_ God, Court – stop!”

His embarrassment was apparently the funniest damn thing on earth to Courtney. She was cackling at Shayne’s flustered expression all the way as he yelled, “Where’s the goddamn anti-horny police when you need them?!”

“You’re so red!” Courtney pressed a hand to her abdomen as she laughed.

The commotion drew Max over. He first went to Shayne, who couldn’t look Courtney in the eye. Max snorted his disapproval before padding over to Courtney, whose laughter simmered down to a fit of giggles. She crouched down to give the dog a rough, affectionate scratch on the head.

“Isn’t daddy so red?” Courtney cooed, and it only served to make Shayne redder, “Isn’t he so red?”

Shayne had just a little less than an ounce of pride left – the only thing stopping him from hiding his face in his hands as Courtney’s laughter (equally delightful and humiliating) bounced off the walls. He put his bravest face on and fixed her with a glare, lip curled in a poor imitation of disgust.

Innuendo and laughing her ass off at him apparently weren’t enough. Courtney straightened up to pinch his flushed cheek as she took the cookbook from him. Shayne swatted her hand away with reflexes unbecoming of a former Scout Sniper.

“You’re so frikin’ cute when you’re embarrassed,” Courtney tucked the book into the crook of her arm. “Remind me to do that more often.”

“Yeah – no, I don’t think I will.”

With a roll of her eyes, Courtney nudged him, “Anything else you want to bring back to your place?” She flashed him a smile – less teasing and more heartfelt, “I know Nicki would kick your ass for messing with her appliances, but I think she’d make an exception.”

Shayne smiled right back. A deep-rooted happiness in his heart bubbled up in times like this. Nobody was as good of a listener as Courtney was. It had been nearly a year since he told her of his wife’s protectiveness of the kitchen equipment.

He strode on over to unplug the food processor. It was a good model that he’d grown familiar with in the past. It was one of the things he was allowed to touch.

Shayne set the appliance down onto the dining table. He turned to Courtney and Max, who watched him closely. “Could load this up in the car later.”

Max must have understood they were done with the kitchen, because he trotted over to the living room. He mindfully stepped past Lizzy’s toys on the floor. The dog didn’t so much as spare them a snort as he walked by. With a quiet grunt, the oversized pup hopped onto the sofa. He sniffed the fabric, sneezed once, then found a satisfactory spot to sploot down. He’d managed to pick the spot Shayne used to occupy in the middle, while Nicole and Lizzy flanked him on either side.

Before his mind could lose itself to the plethora of memories, Courtney fell in step with him. Her hand slipped into his own, fingers interlocking with his.

He’d dwelled on it many times before – the physicality of the undefined relationship with his roommate and living in sin partner. They hugged, they spooned, they cuddled, they kissed (anywhere but the lips, God forbid), and they held hands. They were knocking down barriers one after the other at an almost alarming rate. Yet with Courtney, there was nothing worrisome about the pace they moved. Holding hands like this – like a goddamn star-crossed teenaged couple – it was comforting. Elating, even.

Together, they walked into his old living room and up to the shelves and walls lined with pictures. Shayne plucked frames from the wall with both ease and purpose in his movements. Most were of his family. Others were with his platoon, including Damien and Billy. He purposefully left out the photos including Schoonover. After he was satisfied with the collection of pictures, he hesitated for just a moment before taking his Navy Cross from where it hung.

“Billy’s earned this as much as I have,” Shayne muttered, “If I could dig up his coffin and pin this to his chest, I would, but – well, that’s one hell of a way to get arrested.”

Courtney hummed with amusement. She raised her hands to gesture out the headline, “From Punisher to Graverobber: The Rise and Fall of New York’s Most Prolific Vigilante.”

Shayne snorted and just barely refrained from commenting that it was _a mouthful_. “Would your editors publish a headline that long?”

“If I asked nicely.”

Shayne gave her a dubious look.

“And bribed them with donuts from the pâtisserie down the street.”

He let out a soft laugh, “Gentrifying a _bakery_ , huh?”

“Hey, they’re legit. I bet you’ll be moaning _pâtisserie_ into their chocolate filling at first bite.” Courtney issued the makings of a challenge, and he was never one to back down.

“Let’s pass by on the way to your office tomorrow.”

“Deal.”

With that set, Shayne went over to the dining table to set his cluttered handful down. Courtney was lingering by the small piano up against one wall. When she caught his gaze, she asked, “Was it Nicole or Lizzy – or you,” Courtney quickly added, “Who played? I always imagined it was Lizzy.”

“It was.” Shayne could still make out the image of his little girl there on the bench. It didn’t hurt to picture it this time. “I was more of a guitar kind of guy. Nicki, she-” He blew air out, “She had a great voice.”

Courtney regarded him with a warm smile as her eyes travelled between him and the piano. Shayne picked up the unspoken question she seemed to be teetering on the edge of asking. He motioned for her to sit on the bench.

“You sure?”

“Yeah,” He cracked a mischievous smile, “But only if you play me a song.”

She was already pulling the bench out as she protested, “I’m like, _real_ rusty though.”

Shayne joined Courtney on the seat, flushed up against her side since it wasn’t a large bench. He gave her a little nudge of encouragement. “Can’t be _that_ rusty.”

“Eight years rusty, dude.” Courtney bit her lips as her hands hovered over the key lid for a moment longer.

He shrugged and egged her on, “Improvise.” His arm snaked around her waist, thumb brushing against her ribs. “Nothing to be nervous about. It’s just me.”

There was a dreaminess to Courtney’s voice as she muttered, “Just you and me, huh?”

“Unless you’re the type that performs better with an audience,” He pursed his lips before innocently adding, “We could open up the windows and call the neighbors to watch.”

“Okay, okay,” Courtney laughed as she propped the key lid open, “Here goes nothing.”

It was a cheery, melodic tune that began to permeate the air as Courtney’s fingers danced across the keys. Shayne gave an impressed nod at what he found was a distinct lack of rust. Max perked up then as well. He climbed down from his spot on the sofa to pad over to them. He stood up on his hind legs to rest his head and front paws on Shayne’s lap.

The pup’s tail wagged in delight as Shayne scratched his head. “She’s not bad, huh Max?” At Max’s excitable bark, Shayne asked Courtney, “You got vocals to match?”

The playful, upbeat tempo carried on despite the incredulous look Courtney gave Shayne. Then, her expression shifted like a lightbulb had switched on above her head. With a clearing of her throat, Courtney began singing.

“ _You are my, my favorite pizza place,_ ”

“Oh my God,” Shayne laughed. A warmth filled his chest, because _of course_ , she never failed to bring up that bit of his from before he joined the Corps.

“ _You are my, my favorite pizza place,_ ” Courtney was holding back her childish grin as she focused on the keys to her playful melody.

“You’re so dumb.” Shayne found her grin was contagious.

“ _You’re my, my favorite pizza place,_ ”

“Are you done?”

“ _My faaavorite pizza plaaaaace,_ ” She finished with no shortage of theatrics, spreading her arms wide on the cramped bench – nearly smacking his face in the process.

Courtney looked at him expectantly, as if waiting for his stellar review to grant her clearance to Broadway. Shayne couldn’t resist that radiant smile, or the effect she had on him. Never in a million years did he think music or laughter could ever fill this house again. While it would never be his home again – there were too many memories – his heart was full and content knowing it was no longer a dark and foreboding place. It could be bright and cheery, so long as he had Courtney by his side.

It was one of those moments he was reminded of how much he’d come to rely on Courtney. It wasn’t an epiphany. He’d come to that realization long ago, during one of the first few nights in Rikers. Back when being her _roommate_ was a faraway dream that calmed his turbulent mind. Now it was a reality, and he cared for her more than he could describe.

As the deep and powerful emotions bubbled up to the surface, Shayne didn’t push them back down. Courtney released a little yelp when Shayne pulled her into a close hug. His lips planted a kiss to her cheek. Shayne wasn’t sure if he’d ever be able to verbalize how much Courtney meant to him, but this was a start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! And an even bigger thank you for your patience while I worked on this chapter. I had a real busy week and got kinda burned out. Ghost of Tsushima also released, so I de-stressed playing that. Things are starting to look up again, so I'm optimistic about getting more writing done. Sorry this one was a little short, but I figured I was due for an update. I also wanted to dedicate a standalone chapter to the time passage of their *living in sin* setup and Damien's wedding. Figured it would be cramped if it was all in one chapter.
> 
> Let me know how you liked this one! Love hearing from you guys! Courtney's little song was inspired by her IG story a few weeks back where she sings exactly that. I thought it was the cutest damn thing and needed to be slipped into this story. I think you can find it with a little Google-Fu. I'll catch you guys at the next update, which will hopefully be sooner rather than later. Have a great day now!


	31. Living in Sin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shayne gets a taste of what life is like with Courtney by his side. Courtney helps Shayne through another one of his haunting nightmares.

After picking up Shayne’s suits, guitar, a handful of books, and some other stuff, they drove over to his apartment. Courtney helped Shayne sort his retrieved belongings before they made the trip back to her apartment. They heated up their leftover pasta and prepared a fresh batch of garlic bread. The rest of their evening went by as it usually did – leaning into each other on the sofa with Max by their side. They retired that night in Courtney’s bedroom and graced each other with dreams free from gunfire and bloodshed.

Their routine fell into place with the uncanny ease they both grew accustomed to.

Shayne was an early riser, and soon perfected his skill of slipping out of Courtney’s arms in the morning.

He spent a minute or two savoring the moment – the tranquility that settled over them in the safety of Courtney’s bedroom. It was invigorating. It was what gave him the drive to get up and keep living his life. Admiring Courtney’s gorgeous features up close was another little perk than Shayne enjoyed. Even when sound asleep, hair tussled up, drool at the corner of her mouth, she took Shayne’s breath away.

Shayne placed the ghost of a kiss on her forehead before extracting his tangled limbs from hers. Courtney made the slightest sound of protest, face softly contorting into a frown. Lucky for him, Courtney was a heavy sleeper. Shayne eased off of their bed and went about his morning routine.

By the time Courtney appeared by the hallway leading to the living room, Shayne was already freshened up. Max was eating breakfast, tail wagging contentedly. A mug of coffee sat on the dining table, still hot from her Keurig. Shayne held his own mug, sipping from it as he scrolled through his laptop. He had mercy on her small kitchen counter and just packed along his compact French Press. He was still working on convincing her that this was the superior mode of coffee preparation. That mission had him in for the long haul.

Courtney leaned against the wall with crossed arms. She looked at him through slightly squinted eyes, still heavy with sleep. A smile tugged at the corner of Shayne’s lips as he observed her sleepy demeanor. He raised his mug of coffee in her direction. “C’mon, grab yours while it’s hot.”

A quiet groan escaped Courtney’s lips. With a sigh, she asked, “How are you _this_ awake so early?”

Shayne shrugged. “Habit, I guess.”

“Come back to bed,” Courtney pleaded with a pout.

His heart skipped a beat, and his eyes widened a fraction at her bluntly honest request. The word _boundary_ was truly fading away from their vocabulary.

As tempting as it was, Courtney still had to go to work. Shayne almost felt a sliver of nostalgia in nudging her to get her day started. Lizzy was an early bird like him, while Nicole would sleep in until noon if she could get away with it (which she couldn’t, usually).

Shayne set his laptop and coffee down. He picked Courtney’s cup up and strode over to where she was standing and looking ready to fall back asleep on the spot. “Daylight’s burning, ma’am.”

The mug was pressed into her sleepy hands. When Shayne was certain Courtney wouldn’t drop it, he gently pulled her closer by the waist. With a peck to her cheek, he greeted her, “Good morning, by the way.”

Courtney let out a soft laugh as her lips split into a wide grin. She leaned into his touch and greeted him in kind. Shayne soon discovered that to be the best way to wake Courtney up and move her along. There were some mornings she sensed his disappearance from bed earlier. Those instances, Shayne couldn’t hope to get her up and about just yet. The only way to appease Courtney was to return to bed and snuggle up for a few more minutes.

She never fell back asleep when that was the case. Courtney simply draped herself around Shayne and took in the silence and peace. He figured it was similar to what he did when he woke up ahead of her. He happily obliged, enjoying the comforting and hauntingly nostalgic feeling of Courtney playing with his hair. Shayne could never tell what Courtney’s metric was for when she’d had enough of lying around in bed. Sometimes it was just a few minutes of companionable silence. Other times, they lied around for half an hour, occasionally speaking in hushed voices about the day ahead.

On one of those slower, clingier mornings, Courtney shifted over, so she was practically lying atop Shayne. Her chin rested on top of her hands, folded together on his chest. It was Shayne’s turn to run his hands through Courtney’s messy bedhead.

“How did Nicole put up with your early bird ass?”

The question startled a soft laugh out of Shayne. With a thoughtful hum, he told her, “She slept in while I got Liz ready for school. But sometimes she seemed pretty tempted to tie me down.”

“Maybe I should tie you down,” Courtney considered.

The casually delivered threat caused something to stir within Shayne. With a gulp, he banished the lewd mental images from mind. “Do not,” Shayne warned her with a stern voice, “Tie me down.”

“Whatcha gonna do to stop me?” Courtney challenged him, and he never expected anything less.

“This.” Shayne’s fingers jabbed at her sides to tickle her.

Courtney let out a shriek as she tried to defend herself, “No! Shayne – no! Stop!”

Thanks to the element of surprise, Shayne pressed the advantage and turned the tables. His speedy hands and knowledge of ground fighting alike allowed him to maneuver on top of Courtney. She did her best to defend her flanks, but it was all in vain. When Courtney was out of breath from both her laughing and her yelling, Shayne seized her wrists. He pinned her hands above her head and towered over her with a cocky smirk.

“I don’t think you can do much tying up from down there, Court.” Shayne pursed his lips, making a show of serious thought.

Unfortunately for Shayne, Courtney always knew which buttons to press. Her tongue moistened her full lips with a quick lick. She bit her lip in an exaggerated manner and let out a far-too satisfied hum, bordering on a moan. “I dunno, babe, I was kinda hoping you’d tie me up next.”

Shayne’s face paled. He was off of her in an instant. Courtney had never seen Shayne move that fast in her life. He was already away from the bed and hiding his red face. He began marching out of the bedroom, and towards the dining table to retrieve his coffee and recompose himself. Over his shoulder, he called, “You are such a frikin’ horndog! Quit it!”

Courtney was left alone in the bedroom as she cackled at his expense. Shayne nursed his now lukewarm mug of coffee and willed his face to turn _any_ color other than pink or red. Their banter and teasing bordered dangerously close to suggestive flirting far too often. Shayne wasn’t dense enough to be unaware of that. Problem was he could never really tell how serious Courtney was. Their more risqué exchanges often ended with Courtney laughing her ass off and him unwittingly looking like a tomato. The more it happened, the more Courtney did it. She got a kick out of his reaction.

Regardless of how Courtney finally got up in the morning, their next order of business was breakfast. It was the most consistently inconsistent part of their routine. It varied largely depending on how soon Courtney got ready. If she was bright eyed and bushy tailed for once, they cooked a small meal to share. Bacon, eggs, sausages, hash browns, toast – they were all staples for them.

If Courtney was pressed for time before she needed to be at the office, they settled on simpler bites to eat – Avocado toast and Macrogurt were the usual go-to’s. It touched Shayne’s heart in an unexpectedly deep way when he first discovered her little stockpile.

Shayne was leaning on the kitchen counter, fingers idly tapping on its surface. Max was already by the door, eager to get a move on. He was simultaneously the sleepiest, laziest, yet liveliest, and most energetic dog Shayne had ever met. His mood seemed to depend on the disposition of those around him. When Shayne and Courtney were in high spirits, he was all playful and craving their attention. In more serious times, when one heavy memory or another was unearthed, he was suddenly a slow, languid emotional support dog. He cuddled up to them but made no great attempts at getting their attention. Max was content to simply be close to them and lap at their faces.

Courtney finally emerged from the bathroom, damp hair tied up in a bun. She gave him an apologetic smile and the word _sorry_ was forming on her lips. Shayne waved a hand and assured her, “It’s fine, Court. You ready?”

With a glance at her watch, Courtney grimaced. On cue, her stomach gave an audible gurgle. Courtney sighed and motioned to the refrigerator, “Could you grab us some Macrogurt for the road?”

The smile that made its way up to his face was inevitable. “You got Macrogurt in here?”

“Course I do,” Courtney huffed, as if it should’ve been obvious.

At that point, they’d only been rooming together for a few days. He hadn’t really poked around her refrigerator much until that moment. Shayne opened it up and bent down to get a good look of her inventory.

One of the upper shelves was stocked with at least a dozen cups of Macrogurt with varying flavors. Shayne felt like a kid in a candy store.

“You didn’t think I’d let you live in sin with me without stocking up on that, did you?”

Shayne snorted at the term he threw out once and now wouldn’t go away. But as he did, his heart swelled with contentment – at the thoughtfulness of the gesture. It was another one of those moments he felt like he didn’t deserve the kindness of Courtney Miller.

Shayne grabbed them a cup each, then a loose plastic spoon lying on her counter. They were all out the door, and on their way shortly after. Courtney was behind the wheel that day. She didn’t hide her enjoyment of Shayne feeding her spoons of yogurt as they drove.

On other days, they had just a little more free time. They hit up the pâtisserie close to Smosh. It was all brick ovens, faux cement, and aesthetic lighting that made every pastry picture ‘gram-worthy. It was an actual artisanal bakeshop with a French owner. Hence, it rightfully earned the pretentious (Shayne’s words) title of pâtisserie. Shayne was proven wrong in the end when the chocolate fillings were indeed as good as Courtney had claimed.

From there, Courtney got to work. She parked, while Shayne hopped off to make his way to the nearby gym that he signed up in. The weather was fair this time of year, and the walk was pleasant. Her coworkers caught glimpses of Shayne when he walked her to the building’s entrance, and they just about lost their minds over the fact that he was hot. Courtney went from denying she had a boyfriend out of state to insisting, “We’re _just friends_ , guys – c’mon gimme a break!”

Shayne spent the rest of the mornings pumping iron or beating the treadmill tracks with his running shoes. They took turns babysitting Max, and on the days Shayne had him, he took the pup jogging in the park. After cleaning up, he busied himself with his studies. He was making good progress with all the general education classes and was itching for his majors to finally begin. When he didn’t have his head in the academic books, he read for leisure and pleasure.

When lunchtime rolled in, Shayne simply waited for Courtney’s heads up. She either ate with her coworkers or with him, depending on who was in the studio and available. Naturally, Courtney’s friends insisted he tag along so they could meet him properly. Courtney staunchly refused to expose Shayne to her excitable coworkers. Both to avoid overwhelming him, and to mitigate the risk of them realizing Bradley Russo’s real identity. The thick head of hair and impressive beard he’d grown worked as solid cover, but she didn’t want to take any chances.

Now that Courtney had someone to come home to, she was always eager to clock out on the dot. The problem with that was there were always a couple of reporters who were trying to get a word with her. She’d already given her additional comments and statements in a private conference within Smosh. But like hungry scavengers, they wanted more scraps. Courtney had just stepped outside the building when the reporters approached her, cameras in hand. Shayne was already prepared for such a scenario. Since they couldn’t make a beeline for her car without getting harassed, they needed to go around.

Shayne quickly fell in step with Courtney. His hand fell to her lower back to guide her along. Their brisk pace took them straight into a thick crowd of people, fresh off the clock and on the way home. The reporters struggled to keep up to spring their impromptu interview on Courtney. With Shayne’s guidance, they weaved between people and expertly navigated the throng of busy New Yorkers.

Without warning, Shayne broke them free from the crowd, cutting into an alley. He turned his back to the throng and gently pressed Courtney flat against the wall. He concealed her with his broad frame, subtly peeking over his shoulder at the busy street. As he’d planned, the reporters stumbled their way through the sea of people and were none the wiser.

“I guess all those VIP extraction drills paid off,” Shayne muttered.

Courtney beamed brightly up at him. “So what I’m hearing is,” Her tone was light and playful – something Shayne had been getting happily accustomed to, “I’m a _very_ important person.”

Shayne huffed out a quiet laugh, “Yes ma’am, you heard that right.” He pushed off the wall and let his hand return to her waist to guide her back to the car, “C’mon, before they realize they lost us.”

It was times like that Courtney was glad she got Shayne acting as her private security detail. Once he did a quick check of the car, they were on the road. It hadn’t been tampered with. No bugs or bombs to worry about.

Shayne’s role had its other benefits as well. Being a woman in New York City was rough. It was part of why she carried a gun in her purse. With Shayne walking by her side, nobody dared look at her twice. He didn’t even do anything in particular to keep the creeps of the city back. He just kept his hand planted around her waist as they walked, and all was well. Courtney assumed it was a combination of the combat boots, rugged hair, and built figure.

Now that she was back into journalism and giving the skit and satire writing a break, Shayne was again highly supportive of her in more ways than one. She’d been meeting with sources to learn more about a local manufacturing plant. The story she’d been piecing together was that they were dumping the liquid byproducts into the Hudson River.

The whistleblower she was meeting with was a skittish looking guy, barely into his twenties. He was an intern that was terrified of his bosses but felt the need to say something to someone. He knew the corners they were cutting were polluting the environment. Something had to be done.

They met at a spot overlooking the river. Shayne was her backup in case someone followed the intern and decided to drop threats to keep Courtney away from the story. He stood just a few feet away from Courtney. Shayne wanted to give her the freedom to do things the way she wanted to. He was just there to look tough and stay vigilant. His steadfast presence was enough to keep Courtney’s nerves in check while she did the interview.

“I… It might be traced back to me,” The intern’s nervous hands were rubbing at his upper arms in an attempt to keep calm. “I’m toast if they find out.”

“Listen,” Courtney spoke softly to reassure him, “This won’t come back to you. I’ll keep you anonymous and I’ll word it to avoid dropping hints you talked to me.” She gave a little smile, “I promise, the blowback won’t land on you.”

“How can you be so sure?”

Shayne cracked his knuckles, more as an idle habit than anything else. He was listening to the exchange, but his eyes were scanning their open surroundings.

The intern must have perceived it as a threat, because he gulped audibly. His beady eyes locked onto Shayne’s imposing figure for a few moments before going back to Courtney. She picked up on his unease and gave a dispassionate shrug. “I’m gonna do my part, but you need to give me a hand. You don’t want to make Brad unhappy, do you?”

“N-no, of course not.”

Shayne frowned at the turn of events but played along. He puffed out his chest and crossed his arms. His head tilted up so he could glower down at the intern from the tip of his nose.

“You gonna help me make these guys clean up their act?” Courtney prompted the man.

“Yes, Ms. Miller.” He cleared his throat, “I’ll help.”

“Are you happy, Brad?” Courtney turned to Shayne.

“Reasonably,” Shayne grunted.

Courtney grinned at the intern, who looked ready to grovel on his knees. He was exceptionally cooperative moving forward. As he spilled all the details and dirty secrets, Courtney looked Shayne’s way once. He shot her a wink before putting his serious face back on. Courtney had to bite her lip to keep her smile in check.

One of Shayne’s private worries when they first started rooming together was that their relationship would stagnate. That they’d grow tired of each other. It was with great relief that he found it was never the case. Every meal they shared, every series they binged together, every game they played – it all brought them closer. The banter was always fresh, and Courtney’s wit was sharper than any knife he’d held.

They went shooting together some nights, or when they wanted to kill time on the weekends. They sent hundreds of rounds downrange, and Courtney was happy to receive tips from Shayne. He found that Courtney’s technique was patterned right after the competitive shooters she used to train with. Shayne gave her more practical lessons – stance, grip, shooting patterns – anything that could be applied in an actual firefight. All the things that would help when you couldn’t square your stance perfectly and take all the time in the world to line up the sights to aim.

From back in the precinct siege, Shayne already knew that seeing Courtney with a gun in hand did things to him. Actually watching her put bullets downrange with precision and speed made his throat dry. Atomic Blonde could shoot him right in the chest, and Shayne would thank her for it.

Courtney had taken a break from Judo to try her hand at Muay Thai, and Shayne happily joined in. They trained hard and competitively. Shayne didn’t have to hold back much against Courtney. All he had to do was refrain from slipping in fighting techniques and maneuvers he learned in the Marines. Courtney was an absolute firecracker in the ring, and Shayne loved it. They went home with shins covered in bruises and wide smiles on their faces.

* * *

The smashing success of Courtney’s last piece was part of what pushed her back to focusing on investigative journalism fulltime. The article had predictably made waves, and was the talk of the town. The records they broke when they published the first article were shattered once more with the final exposé piece. Courtney had the chance to see Reyes face to face for a final time. Courtney would’ve pitied the woman’s condition, had she not literally placed a price on her head in Rikers. The former district attorney was a shell of her former self.

Reyes was initially reluctant to comment, but when faced with the Topp family’s original unadulterated autopsy records from Dr. Tepper, she relented. Reyes corroborated all the details Courtney needed, who agreed to objectively report how the events all came to an end – with Reyes voluntarily providing the missing links, naming her co-conspirators, and pleading guilty.

Other details, such as _why_ The Blacksmith didn’t show to the park were revealed by Shayne. Over a few cans of beer, he filled in the final pieces of the puzzle. Courtney couldn’t report Shayne as her source for that, so she kept him anonymous. She had credible citations and evidence to back up everything else. Rounding it out with one mysterious source added to the flair of the article’s intrigue.

Forums and message boards everywhere were blowing up. An even split of surprise on one side, and I-told-you-so on the other. What was common between the two sides was this exhilaration from having the conspiracy dragged to the light. The keyboard warriors and amateur sleuths raked through Courtney’s work with a fine-toothed comb. Some were critics and others were fans. Her citations and evidence were discussed at length, with enough exhaustive debate to comprise an entire dissertation.

There was word going around that the upper echelons of the Marine Corps were probing into Schoonover’s known associates. They wouldn’t leave a stone unturned until everyone else who had a hand in the heroin smuggling was court martialed and brought to justice. If not for the sake of doing the right thing, then at least to cover their own asses. The proud Marines at the top wouldn’t tolerate their honorable institution’s name being besmirched by the likes of the late colonel.

Veterans’ groups all around were livened up by the exposé as well. There was a palpable disgust towards the colonel, who betrayed his own Marine. The feeling of triumph was just as powerful, knowing the Corps was cleaning house, Reyes was pleading guilty, and Shayne (who was still publicly believed to be dead) could rest in peace.

Though it wasn’t always that easy for Shayne and Courtney. When living close to someone for a prolonged period of time, it was only natural. They rubbed each other the wrong way over tiny, inconsequential things.

Shayne clicked his pen to an unheard rhythm while reading. The sound grated on Courtney’s nerves while she typed away on her own laptop.

Courtney left damp hair clumps stuck in the shower drain. Shayne had kept his own drain clear almost obsessively ever since his hair grew out. Nicole wasn’t as neurotic about tidiness as he was, but she kept a clean and spotless home just like he did. The sight of those hairballs never failed to make his lip curl with disgust.

Shayne’s security protocols and room clearing grew taxing over time. Courtney didn’t mind most of his safety measures, but the sweep to make sure there were no intruders was a bit much. She understood he’d seen the worst humanity had to offer. He had every right to be paranoid, especially after her article shook things up. But _good God,_ when Courtney got home from work, all she wanted was to take her pants off and collapse into bed. It took barely five minutes for Shayne to do his sweep, but it felt like an hour when her feet were sore, and she was dead tired.

Courtney wasn’t the cleanest roommate. She was the type that would let dishes lounge in the sink overnight before finally getting around to washing them. Her apartment was far from being filthy in any measure of the word, but Shayne was a neat freak and he knew it. Most times, he was able to keep his irate sigh contained as he did the dishes himself.

Yet all of these were such _tiny_ things. Not even the biggest hair clump or longest streak of pen clicking could measure up to everything they’d been through. The times those little things added up enough to cause an argument, it would end within minutes. Max would whimper in distress like a child watching his parents fight – in a way, that’s exactly what he was. But all was well when they hugged it out and went to bed in each other’s arms. It became an unspoken rule of sorts between them. They didn’t go to bed while still upset with each other.

They slept remarkably peacefully together. On the quiet weekend mornings when they slept in, they sometimes mused about it. Neither of them had slept so well or with such few nightmares in _years._ When the nightmares came, they usually manifested in a sharp intake of breath and a little jolt. It was usually enough to wake the other. Courtney had a penchant for wrapping herself around Shayne like a wet blanket. Shayne tended to make Courtney the little spoon. In either case, it worked.

Other times weren’t so simple. The severity and intensity of Shayne’s nightmares randomly spiked. He could be fine for a week, then suddenly be up and gasping for breath one night. Courtney would find him with his face in his hands, and his hair slick with sweat.

One such night was how Courtney learned of the other things that haunted Shayne. If it wasn’t his family, it was the explosion that cost Billy his life. They stayed up for hours talking about the famous Billy Russo and everything about him. Courtney learned of how he never knew his parents and was tossed around the system for years. He’d been in multiple abusive households but came out of it a stronger man. As soon as he could, he severed all ties with his horrible foster family, even going to the extent of changing his last name to Russo – a name he picked out himself. A name nobody could take from him. With that name, he was his own man.

But this night it wasn’t Billy on Shayne’s mind. It was someone else entirely.

“Dames!”

Courtney’s eyes snapped open. Before she could instinctively reach for the pistol in her drawer, she saw Shayne. He was sitting up, head in his hands. His strong frame was rocked by shuddering breaths. She reached out to him with a hand on his shoulder.

Shayne winced at the contact, and he stammered out, “Nicki?”

It wasn’t the first time Shayne called out for his wife. Sometimes it was in the panicked throes of his nightmares. Others, in the tranquil mornings while blinking the sleep away when Courtney woke first. There was the slightest pang in her heart, but she never dwelled on it or let it bother her. Shayne was always profusely apologetic when he realized his error. Courtney could never blame him for that.

“It’s me, babe.” Courtney reserved the little term of endearment for these instances, in the privacy and safety of their bedroom.

With a few blinks, clarity and shame alike appeared to wash over Shayne. “Fuck – I’m sorry, Court. I – I didn’t mean-”

“Shh,” Courtney pulled him back down to the soft mattress beneath them. She brought him in close, cradling his head and pressing kisses to his hair. “You’re okay. We’re okay.”

Max took that time to lazily crawl over and wedge himself in the small space between them. After a fair bit of squirming and a snort or two, he appeared to find a satisfactory position. Courtney rubbed at the pup’s head before turning her attention back to Shayne. His breathing was beginning to even out.

“Was Damien in the park?” Courtney asked in a quiet voice.

Shayne shook his head. With a gulp, he explained, “I fucked up. His leg – I,” He blew out an angry sigh, “It’s my fault.”

Courtney had learned of Damien having a prosthetic right leg over the course of Shayne’s stay. It had come up in conversation at one point or another. The exact circumstances of how it happened was what Shayne never brought up. Since he didn’t offer the information, Courtney didn’t pry. She could tell it was a sore spot for him.

Now that he was mentioning it, Courtney gave him the chance to open up. “You want to talk about it?”

Shayne’s breathing wasn’t ragged, but it was still deep. The toll the events took on him was palpable. “It’s fucked up the kind of stuff you see out there.”

Courtney stroked his hair as he spoke. The comfort she offered may never heal the deep wounds that dug into his very soul, but she could sure as hell try.

“Before Schoonover turned us into hitmen, there was this IED that went off in a market. Insurgents really wanted to make a mess, and they did. People in that market supplied the local Afghan police and soldiers who worked with us. Damien was down there with other corpsmen,” Shayne’s sigh was so deep it sounded like it pained him, “They were giving first aid to the people that got hurt. Set up a whole triage center and all.”

“Dames is the bravest corpsman I’ve ever met. He’s always first on the ground to help our guys or injured civilians. He doesn’t care who it is, he’s gonna patch ‘em up and put them back together. He was in his element down there helping people.”

“I’m glad you still have him.” Courtney could practically taste the guilt Shayne felt. She figured he needed a reminder that Damien was still alive, and that counted for something.

Shayne scoffed, more at himself than anything else, “I’d have him in one piece if I did my job.”

“What happened?”

“Damien was working on this one kid who got pretty banged up in the blast. The other Marines were pulling security on the ground. I was on a roof nearby while Billy was spotting for me. Bill caught sight of this woman and her daughter. They were outside a house just off the side of the market.”

A knot formed in Courtney’s stomach. She held onto Shayne tighter as he went on, “The woman was holding an IED – a bomb, as big as her torso. There was no mistaking what Bill saw. I saw the same through my scope. She started running at our guys while the kid went back inside.”

“I…” Shayne gulped, “I couldn’t do it. I froze.”

“Shayne…”

“That little girl she was with must’ve been nine – barely older than Lizzy. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t shoot her mother,” Shayne repeated with another shuddering breath, “Bill was yelling at me to take the shot. I didn’t. I couldn’t.”

“Shayne, that’s not on you,” Courtney told him.

“The explosion killed the kid Damien was working on. Him and two other patients. Shrapnel took out his leg. Injured a few other Marines.” Shayne held her tighter. “I left Bill with my gun and took his rifle. Ran downstairs to help secure the market. Couple insurgents started lighting up our guys.”

“Damien likes to say I saved his life that day when I pulled him out of the rubble – brought him to safety,” Shayne scoffed, “I didn’t save his life. I ruined it.”

“That’s not true.” Courtney held Shayne’s face in her hands so she could look him in the eye. “Damien doesn’t think that. You shouldn’t either.”

“I could’ve saved him,” Shayne’s eyes wouldn’t meet hers. His lips quivered for a moment, fumbling for words, “I let him down, Court.”

“You _did_ save him,” Courtney ducked her head in the effort to catch his flighty eyes. When that didn’t work she leaned forward to press her forehead to his. His breath hitched for a second before evening out. His eyes shut. In the darkness, Courtney could make out stray tears rolling down his cheeks and glistening in the moonlight. “You gave him the chance to come home to Alice. He’s helping other vets now because of you.”

Shayne was inconsolable. The worst nights usually saw him in that shape. All Courtney could do was hold onto him. Whisper reassurances in his ear. Press kisses to his head. Courtney could tell it helped, even if just by a smidge. Shayne eventually drifted back to sleep once he was all drained of despair and shame and self-loathing. The next morning was like most others after Shayne had a bad night. He held Courtney tighter than ever, expressing his gratitude with his lips to her skin.

All was well in the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading this chapter! It's another shorter one today, but the good news is the next chapter is longer and already halfway written. This one was originally supposed to include the wedding and reception, but that would've taken us upwards of 13k+ words, and that's a bit much. I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I wanted to just have a bunch of vignettes taking us through their month now that they're attached to each other by the hip. I really hope this doesn't feel like a filler chapter. I was torn as well over including the story behind Damien's leg, but you know me. I like tossing angst in to make those sweet moments all the sweeter. Let me know what you thought of this one. I'm itching to release the next one, and will share it with everyone within the week. Have a great day now!


	32. Romantic Getaway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Courtney and Shayne attend Damien and Alice's wedding.

The wedding and its subsequent reception were being held in a hotel a short drive upstate. It was far enough from the city – something both Damien and Alice were keen on, Shayne explained. They both grew up away from the sprawling metropolis of New York City. It was only fitting that they got wed a little way out of the city as well.

Courtney found the venue exceedingly charming. Polished floors, dust-free carpets, shiny hardwood furniture, and the exceptionally accommodating staff all earned this place a five-star review on Yelp. The wedding and reception were being held outside in the hotel’s grand garden, which had a lovely view of the Hudson River. It made for a picturesque springtime wedding.

Since they knew alcohol was going to be involved, they took Damien up on his offer for a night’s stay in the hotel. Shayne had gotten red in the face when he discussed it with Damien over the phone. Courtney didn’t need to be an investigative journalist to make the guess. Damien had likely asked how many beds they needed, and Shayne reluctantly confirmed they only needed one. Courtney could practically hear Damien’s delighted laughter over the phone.

Courtney and Shayne had just checked in during the late afternoon. Damien and Alice were as busy as could be both getting themselves ready and fixing up last minute matters for the wedding. There wasn’t much time to kill before they needed to head down to the garden. For now, they had to get ready.

“Talk about romantic getaway, huh?” Courtney came to a stop at the foot of the queen-sized bed. She was already breaking into a smile at the sight before her. Most of the hotel room was like any other. The furniture and furnishings were nice, there was a minifridge with overpriced contents, they had a microwave, a kettle, and anything else they could’ve asked for.

What Courtney was certain they _did not_ ask for were the red rose petals arranged to form a heart on the white bedsheets and red coverlet. Shayne stopped in his tracks by her side when he discovered what she was referring to. He looked at her with wide eyes while she bit her lip to reel in her laughter.

“God damnit, Damien,” Shayne muttered under his breath. He set his bag down and stomped over to gather up the petals while Courtney giggled at him. That wasn’t to say Courtney wasn’t a little red in the face herself and a tad embarrassed. It was just that she’d learned to take it in stride better than Shayne had. After all, she was the one who got her kicks out of dropping innuendo on Shayne and watching him react. Half the things that came out of her mouth were half in jest. Like it _was_ a joke that she wanted to tie Shayne up to stop him from getting out of bed so early.

But she sure as hell was keen to find out what Shayne could do with some rope and those nice, talented hands.

Courtney turned her pink face away from Shayne as he cleaned up the bed. She focused on unpacking her dress and makeup. It would be the biggest lie imaginable to claim she didn’t want to just grab the oblivious man and kiss him already, and do much, much less wholesome things to him. The problem was that after all the barriers they tore down, they found themselves doing a dumb little dance on a tightrope.

They did all sorts of couple stuff that was sweet enough to make her gag if it were anyone else. They _slept_ together in the most literal sense of the word. But it stopped there. It’s like they were the closest two _friends_ on earth with the most skewed sense of intimacy and utter lack of physical boundaries. Hell – they’d glimpsed each other in varying states of undress already. Such was the risk of rooming together and having no boundaries. Courtney had walked in on Shayne toweling off after a shower because he forgot to lock the door. Shayne had walked in on Courtney getting dressed in her bedroom since she left the door open.

What was most painstaking to Courtney was the knowledge that the feelings she had were almost certainly mutual. Shayne had probably cuddled up to Damien and Billy like a baby at one point or another – but those were the exceptions. Not the rule. He didn’t get this close and intimate with just anyone. He didn’t spill his guts out and lay everything bare just like that. There was a level of trust between them unlike any other. It was a mature, loving, and frustratingly _platonic_ relationship. They supported each other. They helped each other grow. They made each other _want_ to be better people.

Courtney never believed in finding _the one_ , but she sure as hell believed in Shayne Topp. She’d fallen for him harder than she thought possible and wanted a life with him and only him. The month they spent together only reinforced her feelings – strengthening them and removing all shred of doubt.

She didn’t miss the way Shayne looked at her. The way his hand would linger a second longer on her waist before they went their separate ways. The way he held her so tightly like his life depended on it, yet so carefully, like he was afraid she’d break. The way his breath was hot against the nape of her neck when a chuckle rumbled out from deep within his chest. The way her skin lit up like she was on fire when his lips pressed against her.

Shayne, frankly, drove Courtney fucking nuts.

She didn’t know how much more willpower she had left to hold off from just pouncing on the boy and ripping his clothes off. Living together for a month was a test of patience – one she’d passed up until today and would hopefully continue to pass. Yet each moment wherein she couldn’t freely express herself to Shayne was downright agonizing.

Courtney held off for Shayne’s sake. While she had _at least_ an inkling that he felt the same, Courtney couldn’t say for certain how deeply the romantic inclinations ran on Shayne’s end. For all she knew, he wasn’t anywhere as deeply as into this as she was. Courtney didn’t want to risk throwing everything they had away all because she couldn’t reel her hormones in. Shayne had to be the one to nudge them over the edge and into the abyss of whatever it was they wanted to be. He was the one that had everything taken away from him. He needed to set the pace.

Courtney just really wished he’d kick that pace into overdrive.

“You got everything?” Shayne’s question stirred her from her contemplations.

Courtney looked at the elegant dark blue dress she spread over their bed. She reached into her bag, pushing the .380 aside to reveal her kit of toiletries and makeup. She’d already done her hair back in the apartment. “Yup.”

Shayne nodded in acknowledgment as he got his own belongings in order. He was moving over to the closet to hang up his navy-blue suit. He was unpacking the rest of his attire for the evening when Courtney thought out loud, “Too bad you didn’t pack your dress blues from the Corps. Your butt must look good in those.”

It wasn’t uncommon for veterans or active military service members to wear their formal clothing to weddings, especially when the celebrants were also in the service. Shayne looked sharp in his photos in uniform, and Courtney was lowkey dying to see it with her own eyes.

Shayne gave a halfhearted shrug as he answered, “It’s for the best that I don’t stand out. Same reason I couldn’t be the best man.” He paused, as if her full statement had only now sunken in. He quirked a brow at Courtney. “Are you implying my butt doesn’t look good in my suit? You offend me, Ms. Miller! That’s no way to talk to your date!”

Courtney laughed and grabbed a forgotten rose petal. She tossed it at Shayne as she retorted, “You’re such a drama queen!”

Shayne grinned as he swatted the petal away. He jerked a thumb in the direction of the bathroom. “You take first shift.”

“First shift,” Courtney repeated with an amused huff. She stepped around Shayne and into the bathroom. “I’m gonna put my makeup on, not stand guard at some hostile outpost or something.”

Shayne dragged a stool into the bathroom for her to sit on while she got to work. As he set it down, he retorted, “Takes about the same amount of time though.”

Courtney didn’t dignify his sass with a response. She simply rolled her eyes and unpacked her makeup kit. Shayne leaned against the doorframe to watch her. He didn’t have much to do other than change into his suit and style his hair a little. He’d already trimmed his beard. Thin enough to lend an air of rugged refinement to his ensemble, yet thick enough that Bradley Russo’s face was still a solid cover.

They chattered idly as Courtney gussied up with practiced hands.

“I’ve been meaning to ask – how did the bachelor party go last night? After you dropped me off home, next time I saw you, you just slipped into bed and passed out.” Courtney gave him a mischievous smile, “Must’ve been a busy night if you were that tired. Did you wreak havoc at a strip club or something?”

Shayne scoffed and quickly shook his head, “Nothing like that. Damien sort of had two _parties_ ,” He formed air quotes then continued, “One with his Navy buddies where they were up until four in the morning playing Dungeons & Dragons. The second was just us.”

“How was the bro-date?”

“We just talked,” Shayne shrugged, “Had a few bottles of beer and… reflected, I guess.” From the corner of her eye, Courtney could make out the slow tapping of his trigger finger on his crossed arms. “We saw a lot of stuff out there, you know? Some funny. Some good. Mostly bad. All of it pretty enlightening. Dames is thinking of writing a book.”

“Tell him I can be his editor. I am _somewhat_ qualified and will accept coffee and donuts as payment.”

Shayne chuckled, “Tell him yourself tonight. I’m sure he’ll be glad to hear it.”

“I still think it’s a little insane.” Courtney frowned, partly from her sentiment, and partly from the concentration of getting her eyeliner right.

“What is?”

“The fact it took _this wedding_ for you to introduce me to your best friend.” Courtney gave him a side eye, “You could’ve at least gotten us together for brunch or something first. People don’t normally meet the groom for the _first time_ on his wedding night.”

Shayne shuffled his feet about in a decidedly sheepish manner. “Yeah, that’s my bad, Court.”

At another point, Courtney probed Shayne over who else would be in attendance. “What about that guy from group you talk about sometimes? Lewis? Is he coming?”

Shayne’s expression tightened for a moment. With a sigh, he shook his head. “He’s been off lately. I’m worried about him. He’s been skipping group.”

Over the weeks of Shayne’s stay, he hadn’t neglected his visits to Damien’s support group. He usually joined them in church then headed straight to Courtney once he was finished. It gave Courtney another hour of overtime to catch up on work. When Smosh was down to its skeletal shift in the evening, the office was a nice, peaceful place to work. There was no temptation to idly chatter along with her coworkers then.

Once they were back together, Courtney noticed a consistent furrow in Shayne’s brow, like something was eating at him. She soon learned of Lewis, the troubled Army vet. From what Shayne told her, Courtney learned that Lewis was growing more and more cynical. He was harboring a festering resentment for the government. Then a certain prick by the name of O’Connor was taking advantage of Lewis’ fragile mental state and spouting far-right rhetoric. It was doing nothing but worsening Lewis’ condition.

“When’s the last time you saw him?” Courtney asked.

“A week ago, I think,” Shayne scratched his beard in thought. “He was talking about how the people running the Veterans Affairs were criminals and thieves.”

Courtney pressed her lips together to ensure the even spread of her lipstick. “Why though?”

“The Army diagnosed him with PTSD, right?” Shayne waited for her affirmative hum before continuing, “The VA couldn’t help him out with his loan for the cab because he was fit to work. But if he’s fit to work, then why was he discharged?”

Courtney was putting on the finishing touches by the time she looked at Shayne with a frown of her own. “Maybe they’re prioritizing their help for vets with like… physical disabilities.”

“Probably,” Shayne sighed, “But I can understand his frustration. The Army says his brain isn’t right, then the VA doesn’t help him get back on his feet.”

“Poor guy.”

“I just…” Shayne shifted and gripped his twitchy trigger finger to stop its fidgeting. “Wish I could help more. But it’s tough because Lewis himself is starting to turn us away. O’Connor’s just making things worse.”

Courtney finished up and turned to Shayne with a sympathetic smile. “If he’s pushing you away, then that’s not on you. Just keep trying to reach out. I know you’ll do the right thing.”

“Thanks, Court.”

Shayne stepped to the side to allow her to exit the bathroom. As Courtney passed, she told him, “Go put your suit on and fix up your hair. I’ll finish out here.”

He obliged and retrieved his suit from the closet then disappeared into the bathroom. Courtney didn’t take long getting ready. The blue dress had a snug fit to it. It hugged her figure in all the right places and she knew she looked damn good in it. A little slit by the thigh capped it off nicely. Now all she needed was Shayne’s hand in getting the zipper up the final few inches.

On cue, the bathroom door swung open, and out stepped Shayne. He was a knockout in his navy-blue suit. The modestly striped tie he wore was a nice touch. Courtney almost felt a pinch of nostalgia, like she was back in the courthouse. Only this time, Shayne didn’t wear a face full of bruises and split knuckles to go with the suit. Instead, his normally messy hair was neatly swept back. It was loosely kept in place with some product.

Courtney used to think Shayne in a suit looked like a snack, but now he looked like the whole damn buffet.

To distract herself from that line of thought, Courtney asked, “How do I look?”

Shayne’s eyes were locked onto her face before they ran over her figure once or twice. She felt a not so subtle shiver run down her spine. The butterflies in her stomach were threatening to get frisky once more.

With a lick of his lips, Shayne muttered under his breath, “…shit.”

“I look like shit?”

“No!” Shayne shook his head sharply enough to knock a few strands of hair out of place. “I mean – shit, Court.” He motioned for her to turn around so he could zip up the back of her dress. His other hand planted around her waist with a familiarity that made her heart ache. He tugged up on the zipper as his husky voice was in her ear, “You just might upstage the bride.”

Courtney just about wanted to cry hearing that.

He was so close to her. She couldn’t resist then. She leaned back the scant few inches to press herself against him. Her head craned back to look at Shayne, who watched her just as intently.

“Well don’t say that. I don’t have another dress to change into.”

“No,” Shayne shook his head. His hands slid around to rest against her abdomen. “Definitely don’t change – even if you had a dress.”

Courtney bit her lip to keep her giggle in check. “Okay.”

* * *

They were down in the garden shortly thereafter. It was almost a relief to Courtney. She wasn’t sure what she would’ve done to Shayne if they were alone in that room any longer with him looking like that.

Damien and Alice had spared no expenses in getting the venue ready. The garden was dazzling in the early evening, with a decidedly blue motif. Toward the left, an American flag fluttered gently in the wind. Two clusters of white wooden chairs were steadily being filled up. Between them, the aisle was paved with rough grey granite slabs. At the end was the arch, fashioned from twisted wood, and looking like something from a fantasy novel – the kind of place a woodland princess and a city-dwelling noble would say their wedding vows.

Shayne and Courtney got to their assigned seats on Damien’s side of the chairs, just on the second row. The first was filled with men and women in full Navy dress uniforms – blue for the commissioned officers and white for the enlisted sailors. There were a few Marines in dress blues, but none that Shayne recognized. Regular suits and dresses occupied the rest of the seats, including their own row.

Before long, the ceremony was underway. The bubbly, excitable atmosphere was palpable. Damien looked dashing in his sailor’s dress whites. His smile was as nervous as it was elated. His best man was as tall and broad as a mountain – Terence – a buddy of his from Basic that underwent BUDS and joined the SEALs. Terence was cracking jokes to help ease Damien’s anxiety, and it appeared to just barely be working. When Alice made her appearance, the music began, and all idle chatter was cut short.

Alice had a long, flowing wedding gown in a very traditional style. She was all elegance, class, and confidence in the way she strode down the aisle, escorted by her father. Damien stood tall and proud as his wife-to-be approached, but the sweat running down his brow betrayed his frayed nerves. Alice’s father kissed his daughter on the cheek before handing her off to Damien. The man pulled Damien in for a hug and a rough couple of pats on the back. Once he made his exit, Alice and Damien were frozen in place for a few solid moments. There appeared to be some manner of silent exchange before Alice laughed, and they took their positions.

The ceremony itself moved rather quickly under the priest’s guidance. Damien’s nervous energy and Alice’s excitable euphoria were plain for all to see. It was like if the wedding proper didn’t culminate soon, they both might just explode.

Courtney slipped her hand into Shayne’s at one point when she noticed his stare had gotten vacant and blank. A telltale sign that he was looking but not really seeing – that a memory had crawled up into the forefront of his mind. No doubt Shayne was recalling his own wedding night. Thankfully, he appeared to snap out of the trance that had fallen on him. He smiled at her gratefully, then turned his attention back to Damien and Alice.

The vows were beautiful and heartfelt, enough to get Courtney to tear up. Shayne’s teasing whisper of, “Don’t be such a sap,” earned him an elbow in the ribs. Just the same, it helped her regain her composure.

Finally, the moment they’d all been waiting for came up, and Damien and Alice sealed the deal with a kiss. Applause, cheering, whistling, and of course shouts of, “Hooyah!” from the sailors erupted from the audience.

Courtney watched with interest as numerous sailors in dress blues lined up on either side of the aisle. There were a few sharp commands issued, and sabers were drawn and raised to form an arch. She glanced once at Shayne, who had a fond smile on his face.

Together, the newlyweds stepped under the arch of sabers then came to a stop as the final pair of swords crossed to block their path. On cue, Damien and Alice shared a tender kiss, sending another round of cheering throughout the crowd. The sabers raised to allow their passage, but not before one tapped Alice on the butt, earning a surprised yelp.

Courtney turned her befuddled face to Shayne, who laughed at her reaction. His hand eased around Courtney’s waist as he explained, “Military tradition to welcome the bride into the family – like, not just into Damien’s family but the military family as a whole. I warned Nicki off about that, but I think she forgot. She had the same reaction as Alice.”

When Damien got a smack on the butt of his own, Shayne added, “Now that’s just the Navy guys horsing around.”

The reception was located a short walk elsewhere in the garden. Damien and Alice disappeared for a moment for more photo-ops, and so Damien could change from his dress whites into a suit. Shayne explained it came down to preference, but most grooms liked to switch out of their formal military clothing for the reception. You avoid staining it with cocktails that way, especially for the Navy boys in white.

The numerous round tables in the garden were slowly being filled. Shayne and Courtney were assigned to a mixed table, filled with some of his friends both in and out of the service. The two hesitated for a moment. They could both reasonably say they were people-persons. Crowds were okay. Mingling with new faces was okay. But the fact that neither of them were too familiar with the people here was daunting. Since Shayne was here as Bradley Russo, he was as much of a stranger as Courtney was.

They ducked out for a moment when they found one of the wedding photographers. He was taking couple and family photos. They exchanged looks and figured, why not?

“We’ve got like… one picture together,” Courtney reminded him as they waited in line.

Shayne hummed in consideration then countered, “We’ve got dozens, remember?”

It took all of two seconds for it to click in Courtney’s head. She held his arm and pulled him a little closer so she could whisper, “Photos from your trial do _not_ count, Mr. Topp.”

“I dunno, Ms. Miller.” He made a show of serious thought with pursed lips, “I think we should get some of those shots framed.”

“Yeah,” Courtney’s brows met to frown at him, but she couldn’t fight off her smile, “Maybe we could hang those up next to your mugshot.”

When it was their turn, they stood shoulder to shoulder far more awkwardly than they expected. The photographer quirked a confused eyebrow at them and motioned for them to get closer. Courtney knew they were being dumb. She remedied it by wrapping her arm around Shayne to pull him close. “Ease up,” She told him.

Shayne let out a breathy laugh and shook his head. He rolled his shoulders and loosened up. His hand mimicked hers, settling on her waist. The photographer took a few photos as they smiled. This was one of those things that made Courtney emotional for reasons she couldn’t quite put into words. Taking couple photos at a wedding just wasn’t something she ever imagined doing with Shayne. If someone told Courtney during the trial that she’d be doing this with him, she’d call them insane.

“Do something cute,” The photographer instructed them.

Shayne squinted at the man and asked, “Like what?”

“I dunno man, she’s _your_ girlfriend. You tell me.”

Courtney laughed at Shayne’s rather taken aback expression. She took his head in her hands to press a fond kiss to his adorably confused face. The camera’s flash went off, and the final picture was taken.

Shayne was still pink in the face by the time they were making their way back to the reception. They’d gotten a look at the pictures, and Courtney was giddy thinking of having them framed. The photographer guaranteed that the shots would be delivered by next Friday.

“I miss Max,” Courtney held Shayne’s arm as they walked. He gave her a sad smile and a nod of agreement.

“Think he’s having fun sleeping over with your boss?”

Anthony was babysitting Max for the night out. Knowing how much they got along, it was easy to answer, “Yeah. I’m sure they’re having a blast.”

They took their seats just in time as Damien and Alice made their entrance and went straight to their first dance. Courtney saw it was Shayne’s turn to get teary eyed at the sight. Prosthetic leg and all, Damien was keeping pace with Alice. The difficulty of the act was clear and present for all to see. His perseverance and unwavering smile as he danced with Alice only made it that much more impactful.

Once the dance was over, the welcome toasts were given, followed by dinner. There was a delectable diversity of food served. The newlyweds’ penchant for Japanese cuisine was evident in the appetizers provided. It was only then that Shayne and Courtney got to know their tablemates for the evening. There were a few enlisted Navy sailors who were stationed on aircraft carriers in the Pacific. The nonuniformed guests they were with consisted of longtime friends in varying fields. Nurses, engineers, artists – it was a whole mixing bowl of professions.

Shayne wore his disguise well, and nobody recognized the man behind Bradley Russo’s long mane and thick beard. Courtney had gotten accustomed to calling him Brad when they were out. She still had to make the conscious effort to do so, but the meal went by smoothly. The drinks were beginning to come in as well. At the moment, it was wine and a few cocktails. They were both pacing themselves, considering there were still a few hours ahead.

There were more toasts, followed by the father-daughter and mother-son dances. As the dance floor opened up and the band’s music picked up in energy, the formality of the reception began to give way. The party was entering full swing. Shayne and Courtney remained where they were for the moment, chatting with their new acquaintances. The enlisted sailors were curious of Bradley’s experience as a Marine. Shayne had to give enough details to make it believable but be evasive enough that they wouldn’t realize who he was. The others were interested in Courtney’s writing, and were naturally asking about the infamous Punisher.

The mirthful and somewhat chaotic dancing slowed down when it was time to cut the cake. In another show of military tradition, one of Damien’s officers presented him with a saber. Damien then gave it to Alice and fixed his hand atop hers. Together, they performed the first slice, and the crowd resumed their cheering. As the rest of the cake was divided with a regular knife, they prepared for the bouquet toss.

Shayne and Courtney watched with amusement as the bridesmaids all gathered up, ready to catch. Alice flung the bundle into the air and it sailed down towards the readied women. One of them jumped up to catch it, inadvertently knocking it away.

It came flying over and landed with a thud on Courtney’s now empty plate. There was laughter from those who had witnessed the events unfolding. Courtney could see Damien clapping his hands together with a wicked smile, next to Alice who appeared equally amused.

Shayne had a hand over his mouth, staring at the bouquet in shock. Courtney picked up the bundle of flowers and considered it for a moment. She tilted her head at Shayne, “Well, Brad, I hope you’re hiding a ring in that beard of yours.”

“Oh my God,” Shayne muttered as he blinked once or twice to overcome the surprise. Courtney laughed at his embarrassed self and handed the bouquet off to the closest bridesmaid. She squeezed Shayne’s knee once to reassure him that she was pulling his leg.

From there, the party continued to burn bright. The time eventually came where several other sailors overheard Shayne sharing stories about his time in the service. These were the lighter memories, ranging from messing with the lower enlisted Marines, to pranking the officers with elaborate setups.

With Shayne distracted, Damien and Alice took that chance to kidnap Courtney. They brought her over to one of the standing tables a distance away. A cocktail was placed into her hands, and the bride and groom were grinning at her widely.

“Congrats, you two! I am so happy for you both,” Courtney found their smiles contagious.

“Thank you, Courtney. You know, you are as radiant as Shayne said you are,” Damien greeted her with a hug, welcoming her like an old friend.

“Wait – he said that?”

Alice pulled her in next with a warm peck to her cheek. As she pulled back, she was grinning ear to ear. “Those aren’t his exact words. For someone who reads so much, he does a lot of mumbling and stammering when he talks about you.”

The heat in her cheeks was back with a vengeance. Thankfully, the couple gave Courtney a brief break from that line of talk. They instead asked more about Courtney, just to get to know her better. They’d heard a lot about each other, and this meet was long overdue. Courtney pitched her offer to help act as Damien’s editor, and he was elated to hear it. In between snippets and stories, Courtney was introduced to family friends, coworkers, relatives, and neighbors who happened to be walking by their table. She could hardly remember more than two names at a time, but she put her most cordial smile on and joined in the small talk.

Damien was funny. It was one of the first things that was immediately apparent to her. Alice was as well, in a more refined, deliberate way. While Damien talked and the jokes came out naturally and seamlessly, Alice dropped her little quips and one-liners with precision and purpose. Both of them had Courtney laughing for nearly half an hour as the cocktails kept coming.

She was already feeling lightheaded and a little woozy on her feet when Damien asked, “You’ve moved in together?”

Courtney just barely refrained from spraying the newlyweds with a mouthful of Berry Rose Mojito. She swallowed down and cleared her throat, “Not exactly.”

Alice wore a mischievous, doubting smile. With a tilt of her head, she asked, “Really?”

“It’s…” _Complicated_ was the word on the tip of Courtney’s tongue, but she hated saying it out loud. That made it sound like stupid high school level drama.

“Complicated?” Damien asked, apparently able to read her mind.

“Just for a month,” Courtney explained as she swirled her glass around. “We’re rooming together in case anyone from _before_ messes with me for the article. We’re actually due to split up when we get back to the city.”

“You’re not thinking of extending his stay?” Damien was clearly the perfect devil’s advocate to her rational mind. Courtney had certainly thought of it more than once, but she had no good reason for asking it of Shayne. Their whole arrangement was a security measure in case her article stirred up the wrong hive – which it thankfully hadn’t. She couldn’t just spring it on him that she wanted him to stay for good… could she?

At Courtney’s initial silence, Alice nudged her. “Ask him to stay. I bet he won’t mind.”

“He’s…” Courtney looked over across the garden. She could spot his broad shoulders and once again messy hair from here. Shayne was so handsome in that suit; she felt her body grow warm just looking at him. He swept a few loose strands back in place as he said something that made his companions laugh. As much as she loved having Shayne all to herself, it made her heart swell with contentedness to see him letting loose around other people.

“Dreamy?” Damien asked, “He tends to have that effect on people.”

Courtney’s head snapped back to the newlyweds, who snickered at her. Damien shrugged innocently as Alice squeezed Courtney’s arm, “We should probably be thanking you for looking out for him.”

Damien gave a serious nod of his head, “I don’t think anyone else could’ve done what you did, Courtney.”

“What did I do exactly?”

Damien looked at his friend across the garden for a moment’s contemplation. “You brought him back to us. I didn’t think I’d ever see him laughing like that again.”

Courtney sometimes thought of that – of how far Shayne had come. From the scowling mystery shooter to the tender man who was like putty in her hands in the mornings. Actually hearing someone else acknowledge it made her unexplainably sheepish. Especially since it was coming from Damien, someone who’d known Shayne far longer than she had.

Damien and Alice didn’t stick around for much longer after that. They had other guests to check on and chat up. They departed with another round of hugs. Courtney downed the rest of her cocktail and prepared to return to Shayne.

Just then, a tall, well-built man stopped by the standing table. Courtney recognized him as Damien’s best man, Terence. In his hands, he had a glass of wine and a margarita.

“Drink?” Terence didn’t beat around the bush.

“Oh, that’s…” Courtney had meant to say it wasn’t necessary. But it just so happened she glanced Shayne’s way in that moment. There was a woman mingling with Shayne and the sailors. She had red hair, high heels, a tight dress, and a flirtatious hand on Shayne’s arm. Courtney accepted the margarita in the hopes of drowning her simmering irritation. “Great. Thank you.”

Terence was okay. He was witty, and that kept the conversation interesting enough. He was also a tad cocky, judging by the flair with which he regaled her with stories from his deployment. Courtney obliged him partially to be polite, and partially so she didn’t cause a scene in her tipsy and jealous state.

Courtney had been to enough parties to know that Terence was hitting on her. While he’d first stopped by on the premise of checking on the wedding guests, his ulterior motives weren’t exactly hidden. Yet he wasn’t a creep, either. He knew his boundaries and wasn’t pushing it. The guy seemed content to just talk, and that was fine by her.

And best of all, Terence kept the drinks flowing. Seeing that redheaded lady giggling up close to Shayne – Jesus – she needed those drinks to keep coming. They were talking. About what, Courtney didn’t know, but she had a feeling she would be pissed regardless of the topic. If that lady came onto Shayne any harder, she may as well have grabbed the guy and tried to kiss him.

Courtney wasn’t the jealous type. With all her partners before, she never minded if they had lady friends or what. She didn’t get worked up if she saw her partner giving a woman a peck on the cheek in greeting or laughing along with her. But tonight?

Courtney’s eyes all but rolled into the back of her skull when she saw the woman place a frisky hand on Shayne’s chest.

Maybe she was the jealous type.

The scowl on her face was wiped away by another margarita being placed into her hands. Terence toasted her with his glass of wine and leaned against the standing table.

“Okay, Courtney,” Terence began, “Who are we glaring at?”

“I – what? No one!” Courtney stammered and proceeded to glare at Terence instead behind the rim of her margarita.

His dubious gaze studied her for a moment. With a sip of his wine, he surveyed the crowd. Terence apparently had hawk-like instincts, because it didn’t take five seconds for him to catch on. He gave Courtney a look, pursed his lips, and nodded.

“You checkin’ out the redhead?”

Or maybe, he wasn’t that hawkeyed after all.

“No,” Courtney couldn’t bite back her snappy mood.

Terence laughed and raised a placating hand, “I’m kidding. That guy? Bradley?”

Courtney’s evasive eyes and knit brows gave her away.

“You came here with him, right? Is he your date or something?”

Courtney grunted in a manner far too reminiscent of Shayne’s own nonverbal replies. “Or something.”

Terence was silent at first, choosing to observe Shayne and the redheaded minx getting her paws all over him. The brief quiet that settled between them forced Courtney to risk looking at Shayne and the flirt as well. Her hand was touching his arm again, and Shayne was in the middle of cracking a joke. She laughed, throwing her head back and placing a hand over her chest. Then Shayne must have sensed their looks, because his head turned and spotted them shortly thereafter.

It was immature as all hell, and Courtney felt like she was back in high school, but she did it anyway. With a hand on Terence’s arm, and a tipsy inflection in her voice, she commanded, “Quick, laugh with me.”

Courtney fake-laughed with her other hand pressed to her chest. Terence caught on after a bewildered pause. He threw his head back in laughter, waving his hand once as if to say, _oh stop it, you!_

To her dismay, Shayne was still conversing with the redhead. Terence was chuckling quietly at her distress like it was the funniest damn thing to him. Courtney scrunched her face up in displeasure as Terence suggested, “Why don’t you go over there and start a catfight.”

“I’d wipe the floor with her,” Courtney bitterly muttered into her margarita.

“I don’t doubt it,” Terence cleared his throat. He was more serious when he told her, “Nah, but for real. Just get over there and get your man back.”

“I can’t just,” The alcohol made Courtney’s gestures all the more animated, “ _Get over there_.”

“Why not? He’s _your_ date.”

Courtney gave a noncommittal shrug and downed the rest of her drink. All the margaritas and mojitos she knocked back were beginning to cloud her judgment. Terence’s idea didn’t seem half bad anymore. Or maybe it never was that bad, and the alcohol was bringing her clarity? She didn’t know anymore, and she frankly didn’t care.

“Tell you what, I’ll wingman for you,” Terence grinned at her expectantly. “I’ll take care of the lady.”

“Y’know, that might be the best idea you’ve had all night.”

Terence chuckled before downing the rest of his wine. “I’ll have you know I’m full of good ideas.”

“Save it for the redhead, bud.”

It earned another sharp laugh from Terence, but he complied. Together, they crossed the garden in the approximation of a straight line. Courtney wasn’t quite drunkenly shambling just yet, but her feet were getting clumsy.

As soon as they got close, Courtney threw caution to the wind. “Hey, babe!”

Shayne’s head snapped in her direction. His surprise was soon replaced by delight. “Hey yourself.” Concern soon marred his brow, “You okay? You look like you’ve had a lot to drink.” Shayne was already facing Courtney fully, extending a hand to her arm to steady her.

“I’m fine,” Courtney stepped in close to loop her arms around Shayne’s neck. She pressed a quick but loud kiss to Shayne’s cheek.

Right on cue, she could hear Terence behind her making his introductions. He was all smooth talk and honeyed words, and it appeared to actually be working this time.

“What’s goin’ on, Court?” There was a light tipsiness in Shayne’s voice as he pulled back enough to look at her. It took all of her willpower not to capture his lips with her own in that moment.

“Nothin’. You spent too much time flirting with redheads.”

Shayne’s face split into a wide, entertained grin. “Are you jealous, Courtney?”

She was, but no way was she telling him that.

“Shut up.”

He laughed, and only laughed harder when she frowned and pouted at him. He bit his bottom lip to reel in his cackling. When Courtney’s sulking didn’t pass, Shayne cupped her face in his hands and smiled at her in earnest.

“Hey – listen,” Shayne began, “She was hitting on me. Not the other way around. That shit’s one-sided.” He tilted her face to bring his lips up to her forehead in a tender kiss. All the butterflies in Courtney’s stomach came back to life in a storm of fluttering wings. Courtney once again wanted to cry from the mix of emotions when Shayne told her quietly, “You’re my date tonight, babe. Nobody else.”

He was so close. She could smell the shampoo and product in his hair. The faint hint of some wine that had gotten caught in his beard. Even the smell of the wedding cake he’d eaten made her smile. She wanted him bad. The alcohol was only amplifying every damn suppressed emotion she had.

Before she could get any more reckless, Shayne asked her, “Do you wanna dance?”

“Yes,” The reply was out of Courtney’s mouth before she even fully processed the question.

The band’s music had grown mellow and sentimental. The dance floor thinned out. The wild and rowdy crowd had been replaced by couples moving to the music. Shayne led her by the hand over to the dance floor. They found a vacant spot and began. The alcohol dulled whatever sense of hesitation either of them had.

The moves were slow, languid. Their bodies swayed along to the gentle rhythm of the music. Courtney expected her legs to be heavy and uncoordinated from overdoing the margaritas and mojitos. Either Shayne was _that_ skilled at taking the lead, or they were moving slowly enough for her to keep up. Courtney guessed it was a bit of both. This was second nature for Shayne, and it showed.

The fact that the last dance he’d shared was undoubtedly with his late wife tugged at Courtney’s heart. The feeling of melancholia mixed with this sense of gratitude that was difficult to place. She was honored and humbled to be trusted to be Shayne’s partner in this little dance.

Courtney was transfixed by Shayne’s deep ocean-like eyes as they circled one another. She felt like she could lose herself in their depth whenever she peered in. She could drown in it, and it would be the sweetest release imaginable.

The movements they shared were natural. Never forced. They all came with a momentum and buildup that never surprised Courtney. Shayne’s lead was easy to follow, and Courtney couldn’t help but compare it to their relationship as a whole. They’d come so far. Built so much together. Courtney never wanted to let him go.

She was running out of things to focus on to distract her raging hormones. Every little aspect about Shayne was driving her up the wall. His hands were gentle but firm as he led her. Courtney had dreamt for far too long of what those hands felt like exploring her skin. The deep rumble of his chuckle and his teasing voice telling her, “You’re not so bad at this after all,” made her want to shut him up with a kiss. The heat radiating off his body – Courtney wanted to know how warm he felt beneath the suit.

The party was winding down by the time a few songs had passed.

“Wanna call it a night?” Shayne asked.

On the one hand, Courtney was eager to get out of her dress and heels.

On the other hand, her restraint was running out. Being in an enclosed space with Shayne while she was somewhat drunk would only have one ending.

A part of her was glad she packed nice underwear just in case of _emergency_.

* * *

Shayne was feeling indescribably nostalgic as he lied in bed, freshly showered. The alcohol wasn’t helping. Aside from making the room spin in slow circles when he opened his eyes, it got him thinking of his own wedding night.

They came at him as flashes of sensations, real enough to feel them. The live band’s music filling the space and reverberating through his very bones. The nervous heat his body produced in his dress blues. The rough texture of the patterns on Nicole’s wedding gown, contrasting her smooth skin as he helped her free of it.

The sadness no longer overpowered Shayne. His trip to the cemetery a month prior had been the most cathartic release imaginable. While he could still lose himself to the memories, the oppressive downtrodden feeling that came with them was gone. They would come and go, and he could reminisce with fondness and a touch of melancholia. After everything, he couldn’t ask for anything better.

Courtney emerged from the bathroom, stumbling forward, and teetering from side to side. She was wearing his damn merch again. The white skull on her black shirt was staring at him tauntingly with its dark eye sockets. Shayne turned his bedside lamp on as Courtney successfully fumbled enough until the lights overhead shut off.

Her shambling brought her over to the foot of the bed. Courtney brushed her hair back and regarded him with a lopsided smile. Her eyes were running over him as if there was something that she was trying to place.

Eventually, a fit of giggles overcame her. She pressed her knuckles to her lips, but it did little to slow her tide of mirth. Shayne fixed her with his puzzled gaze and asked, “What?”

“You got frog arms,” Courtney said in between laughs.

Shayne’s arms were above his head, stretched out. He’d done so to keep cool since his body was still burning warm from the alcohol. He looked at his arms in confusion.

“Like that,” Courtney raised her own arms above her head, stumbling in place as she did. Shayne tried to ignore the fact that the shirt rode up and that Courtney had decided to forgo shorts or joggers or _anything_ other than her underwear once more. He caught a glimpse of her strong, flawless thighs – those damn legs that never ended. He tore his gaze away to look at her arms. Then he looked back once more at his own arms, and the connection clicked.

Shayne made a face at Courtney and decided to poke right back at her. “I’ll have you know Jess liked my frog arms.”

Courtney scoffed, and her entire face wrinkled with displeasure, all trace of amusement gone. Her arms crossed over her chest. She avoided his gaze as she spat out, “Oh, was that your girlfriend’s name?”

Shayne laughed at that. He was half expecting Courtney’s hair to stand on end like the hackles of an agitated cat. But Shayne decided to be merciful tonight. Courtney’s jealousy was adorable, and he could poke fun at her all day. But there was no need for that tonight. Shayne could tell it had bugged her.

“She’s not my girlfriend. Don’t be silly.” When Courtney still didn’t budge, he sat up. Shayne inched his way to the edge of the bed on his knees. “C’mon, hop in.”

Courtney was swaying in place as a side effect of her intoxicated state. That was the only movement she was doing, as her head was turned away from him, and her arms were defiantly crossed.

Shayne decided he wasn’t taking no for an answer. All the wine he knocked back may have been clouding his own judgment, but this was harmless enough. Shayne wrapped his arms around Courtney’s waist and picked her up. Courtney let out a startled yelp, which quickly turned into delighted laughter. He turned to drop Courtney in bed next to him, but she apparently had other ideas.

Courtney clambered onto him in a full mount. Shayne nearly got flashbacks to their grappling sessions in Judo. The sight of Courtney sitting atop him, brushing her hair back in place – that damn Punisher shirt riding up and doing a poor job at concealing what resembled lingerie – fuck, if she weren’t the hottest thing he’d seen in recent memory, he didn’t know what was.

“What’re you doin’ up there?” Shayne asked.

The warmth Shayne felt was amplified when Courtney’s hands came to rest on his sturdy chest. Her thumbs brushed against the soft fabric of his shirt. Shayne wasn’t sure where to put his hands. They first settled on her hips for a split second before sliding down to her smooth thighs. He leisurely drew patterns against her skin as he waited for an answer.

Courtney was giving him this look. He’d seen it at multiple points throughout the night, most noticeably after she started knocking back those cocktails. Jealousy wasn’t exactly an attractive trait, but there was just _something_ about the way Courtney had gotten fired up. Shayne hadn’t meant to let that lady’s flirtations drag on. He’d just deflected and joked it off as best as he could. He hadn’t been hit on so much in _years_. He wasn’t used to turning down someone’s advances in a tactful way. That isn’t something you really have on your mind while fighting for your life alongside your platoon.

Eventually, Courtney shrugged her shoulders. “Just checkin’ out the real estate.”

Shayne snorted. The words came out slowly and drawn out – a precaution to prevent stumbling over his words in his drunken stupor, “Oh yeah? How do you like the view?”

There was that lip bite again. Those full, soft lips that Courtney loved to chew on. He could give her a break from that – he’d bite her lip for her, free of charge.

Courtney gave a contemplative hum. “Think I could get used to this.” With a devilish grin, she added, “Not gonna give _Jess_ a chance to see this view, that’s for sure.”

“Hey,” Shayne reached up. His hand brushed against her neck to run through her hair and cup the base of her head. “Don’t think about that.”

Her brows pitched together in a gentle frown that he was determined to remedy. “It’s just you and me, Court.”

Courtney’s bright green eyes met his once more. Shayne could look at them for eons and not tire of their shine and spirit. He returned Courtney’s words together from that night in his apartment months ago, “I’m with you.”

The weight of the words – far more than just words, they were a promise – settled over them. They were in this for the long haul in more ways than one. The bond between them was stronger than any other. It had been forged in bloodshed and emotional turmoil and was all the stronger because of it.

Courtney began to bend down – slowly, deliberately, inch by inch. Her gorgeous face stopped just a few inches from his own. Shayne took in the sight of her, but those lips were all he could focus on. They were plush and inviting, parted ever so slightly. Her hot breath fanned his face. He couldn’t tell whether it was the toothpaste or the mojitos that gave it a minty scent – that idea in itself was so wholly endearing to him, so quintessentially Courtney.

“What?” Courtney’s voice came in a breathy whisper. His own smile spread to her lips as he grinned at her. “What’re you smilin’ at?”

“You, stupid.”

“You’re stupid.” Courtney’s soft laughter was becoming one of Shayne’s favorite sounds in the world.

It was when their noses bumped together that it truly sunk in. Courtney was _so_ close. Every part of her was _so close_. In bending down to his level, her legs spread out to get comfortable. They wrapped up around his own, and her feet brushed against his. Her chest was pressed up against him – close enough to feel the rapid beat of her heart. And now her face – Jesus – she was close enough to –

Courtney closed the distance.

Her lips were like velvet against his own. It was on pure rusty muscle memory alone that Shayne knew how to respond to her without thinking – because he couldn’t.

His mind blanked.

All he could process was Courtney everywhere, assailing all his senses. The smoothness of her lips as they shared their tender kiss. Her hands sliding up to cup his face, thumbs brushing against his beard. The _taste_ of her lips, a combination of lime, mint, and just a hint of alcohol. The breathy, gentle sighs Courtney released in between kisses.

Shayne knew he’d give it all for Courtney.

She’d seen the lowest, worst recesses of his soul and didn’t flinch. She welcomed him into her heart, darkness and all.

He wanted to do the same for her.

How far his emotions for Courtney ran – he’d only ever felt that way about Nicole.

He’d loved her immeasurably deeply. Unconditionally. Incomparably.

And she was taken from him far before her time.

Just like that, the heart piercing pain and loss returned with unmatched intensity.

He was falling for Courtney. Hard. Fast. There were no brakes on that train.

If he lost her too –

The soul-tearing ache and grief tugged at his heart.

That wasn’t the sort of pain he was ready to deal with again.

Not after barely over a year had passed.

He couldn’t do this. Not again.

Shayne broke the kiss. “Wait, Court.”

Courtney looked at him with wide, doe-like eyes. Her lips were parted as they released breathless pants.

“I – I’m sorry,” He stammered, “I can’t.”

The emotion that flashed across her features was more painful than any bullet he’d ever taken.

“No,” Courtney shook her head, “I’m sorry, Shayne – I shouldn’t have – fuck,” She let out a sharp sigh as she rolled off of him. Courtney sat up, pressing the heels of her palms into her eyes. “Fuck – I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Shayne licked his lips. This train wreck was his doing. The guilt began to rumble deep within his gut. “It’s okay.”

Courtney brought her knees up to her chest. She looked so small and vulnerable and completely unlike herself. Shayne yearned to comfort her, but he lost the right to do that when _he_ caused this.

There was nothing more he could say without making this worse.

“Let’s…” Shayne sighed, “Let’s just turn in for the night.”

Courtney curled into a ball. She faced the wall and kept him out of sight. With an audible sniffle, she answered, “Okay.”

For the first time in a month, they slept apart on the far ends of their bed.

And in the morning, they didn’t wake up together in a mess of tangled limbs. Neither of them had moved an inch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You didn't think it would be all smooth sailing just like that did you? Shayne "Chickenshit" Topp strikes again! Stay tuned to see how our lovebirds get out of this bump in the road. Thanks for reading, and I eagerly await your (probably violent) reactions to the end of this chapter.
> 
> I've only attended a couple of weddings in my life, so I had to mostly go off research. It was pretty cool reading into military tradition at weddings, and thought it added a nice flavor to this chapter. I've already got the next chapter's first draft done, subject to revision. Things are gonna start picking up speed again. I'm both nervous and excited over the succeeding chapters, and you'll see why soon enough. I'll discuss it at length in that author's note in due time. For the meantime, have a good day now!


	33. Spiral

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shayne picks up a friend. Lewis makes a confrontation. Courtney cooks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, let's talk content warnings real quick, but first, I'll mention the actual content warnings: graphic violence and suicide (whether the attempt or the completion of the act).  
> I've decided that moving forward, this'll be the last content warning I'm dropping. This is in the interest of preserving suspense and surprise for the remaining last couple of chapters. I understand that everyone still reading has gotten through my action sequences largely unscathed, but the latter may be a bit more difficult to deal with for some. If that's the case, the moment the scene becomes apparent that it deals with suicide (whether the attempt or completion of the act), better skip along to the next break in the chapter. Assume that moving forward, those two content warnings may very well apply for each chapter. The only other *warning* I'd drop is implied sexual content, but that'll be pretty tame, if it makes the cut at all. If it comes, then it comes (pun intended).

Shayne had never been to the 10th precinct before. He never had reason to. It was the 15th he was well acquainted with. It was there he was likely to get recognized by the officers he’d stood shoulder to shoulder with during the Cartel’s siege.

This station was similarly outfitted as the 15th. The reception area led to the open bullpen with numerous desks, filled with officers mulling about their jobs. With bitter humor, Shayne noted that the same defensive tactics would apply if someone rolled up with a machinegun.

He waited by the reception area with arms crossed. His boot impatiently tapped the tile floor, earning a glare from the officer by the counter.

Shayne couldn’t help it. He was in a rotten mood. He’d been pissy for days. That tended to happen when you ruined the best, brightest part of your life. It was only Wednesday, and it already felt like weeks had passed. Time was crawling by at an excruciating snail’s pace and it was grating on Shayne’s nerves.

Finally, an officer emerged from deeper within the precinct. He escorted Lewis, who sported a bruise on his face and cuffs on his hands. The younger man avoided Shayne’s gaze as they came to a stop by the front desk. The officers exchanged a few words before Lewis was uncuffed and told to stay out of trouble.

They walked side by side down the precinct’s steps and towards Shayne’s parked car. Once they were inside, Shayne handed Lewis a coffee from the cupholder. He picked up his own drink and took a sip, watching Lewis fidget with the cup.

“Why’d you agree to bail me out?”

The question hit Shayne in an odd way. It should have been obvious. With a shrug, Shayne explained anyway, “You’re my friend?”

Lewis was unable to meet Shayne’s eyes. He looked out the passenger window and fiddled with the lid of his coffee cup. Shayne added on, “Plus the fact you called me means you didn’t want to call your dad. If you didn’t want him to know, then there wasn’t anyone else.” Damien was on his honeymoon in Japan for about a week. That left Shayne as Lewis’ last lifeline. “I wasn’t going to abandon you.”

“They’re pigs,” Lewis grumbled under his breath, “We weren’t doing anything illegal.”

“We? O’Connor was with you?”

The disappointment in Lewis’ sigh was plain as day. “Yes.”

“And what did he do to help you? Hm?” The pent-up frustration was rising within Shayne. “Did your buddy O’Connor offer to bail you out?” Shayne squinted and leaned a fraction closer towards Lewis, who still refused to look at him. “Or was O’Connor in the cell next to you?”

“He wasn’t arrested.”

“So, he left you behind, is that it?” Shayne pressed.

Another heavy sigh and Lewis admitted, “Yes.”

“They said you were locked up for protesting without a permit – what was that about?” Everything had been so vague. Shayne wanted to at least get some answers as to why his shitty week had Lewis getting locked up as the rotten cherry on top.

To give Lewis time to contemplate his answer, he turned the engine on and began the drive back to the younger man’s house. Lewis appeared to eventually deem that his coffee wasn’t spiked. He took a long sip and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“We were outside the courthouse handing out literature.”

“The pamphlets, you mean?”

“Yeah.” Lewis nodded. “Our second amendment is being dragged through the mud-”

Shayne let out an exasperated sigh before he could reel it in. He’d been on a short fuse for days. The nightmares were back in full swing. The lack of sleep was clawing at him like a rabid animal.

“There was a teacher on trial in there. He brought a gun to his classroom, but he was responsible. He didn’t wave it around, he didn’t do _anything_ ,” Lewis was impassioned. A fire burned within him that Shayne hadn’t seen before. “The kids didn’t even know he was packing. One of the other teachers reported him and now,” He scoffed, “Now the _justice system_ is prosecuting him for exercising his rights!”

“And the – the police,” Lewis let out a scornful laugh, “They’re just making shit up as they go along! We were obstructing no roads, had no loudspeakers – we didn’t need a permit. But that – that asshole antagonized us. He made up a story that I reached for his gun. He’s a liar, and _he_ belongs in jail.”

“Jesus Christ,” Shayne muttered before speaking up, “What – was this O’Connor’s idea?”

“It was a good idea, Mr. Topp-”

“Just call me Shayne,” He reminded the younger vet.

With a grumble, Lewis repeated, “It was a good idea, Shayne. Everyday, people are losing _more and more_ of their rights – their liberty! Nobody is doing anything about it,” His teeth were grit in frustration before he added, “The courts in the justice system, the cops – they’re not doing _anything_ to stand up for our rights. The government is betraying us. And – and you have that prick Ori going on-”

“Wait,” Shayne raised a hand up to slow down the rant, “Ori? Senator Ori?”

“He’s a snake, Shayne – he’s using his position to condemn people like that teacher.” Lewis rambled on. His fingers were tapping against the coffee cup, and his leg bobbed up and down with that signature nervous energy of his. His eyes – bloodshot, Shayne noted – wouldn’t settle on any one surface. He was like a ticking timebomb ready to explode. Shayne cursed himself for giving the young man caffeine to add to his jittery nerves.

“Ori wants to take away our rights to further elevate assholes like himself,” Lewis took a breath to continue on, but stopped when Shayne hit the brakes harder than necessary at a stop light.

“Where’s all this coming from, Lewis? I haven’t seen you in two weeks and suddenly you’re – you’re spouting all this. Is this all O’Connor? How much time have you been spending with that asshole?” Shayne just barely stopped himself from baring his teeth as he growled out the questions. His grip was tight around the steering wheel. He was liable to drive his fist into it in frustration if this kept up.

“He is not an asshole-”

“Yeah? What do you call someone that left you behind to get arrested?” Shayne fired back, “You’re blaming the system and talking about the government betraying you – maybe you ought to look closer to home first, huh?”

Shayne reached into the backseat where he’d printed his research from before he left to pick up Lewis. He roughly extended the stapled papers to the younger veteran. Lewis looked at the documents in confusion but accepted them. With another sip of coffee, he set the cup down and leafed through the papers.

“Wait – what is this?”

“I pulled O’Connor’s records,” Shayne said. When Lewis called him from the slammer, Shayne had an inkling that this was tied to O’Connor. Shayne was in no mood for games, so he let Lewis simmer for a bit while he checked the publicly available records. “That shitbag isn’t what you think he is.”

Lewis eyes ran across the printed service documents as Shayne went on, “That goddamn Silver Star he brags about? All bullshit – never happened. Probably got it at Walmart or something.”

“How…” Lewis trailed off as the unmistakable proof was laid out before him in black and white.

“He never served in Vietnam.” Shayne’s tone was clear, leaving no room for misinterpretation. “He only signed up in ’77. Never saw combat.”

“But he-”

“He’s a fraud and a liar, Lewis,” Shayne turned to look at Lewis, “Unlike you. You served – you fought. He doesn’t deserve any of your respect.”

Lewis was stunned silent. The documents in his hands were three measly pages long, mostly due to the formatting and line spacing. He looked them over once, twice, and then again. He didn’t stop rereading the service record until there was no shred of doubt.

“Come to group on Friday,” Shayne offered, “We miss you over there. Damien’s out, but I’m hosting the session while he’s gone.”

The troubled veteran said nothing the rest of the ride. He clenched his jaw shut and that was the end of it. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, clutching the printed service records close to his chest. Shayne repeated his offer when they arrived at Lewis’ house, but the bleary-eyed veteran just gave a hopeless shrug.

“It doesn’t work anymore. It’s not – it won’t help. It’s not going to fix this country-”

“Lewis,” Shayne tried to be firm and calm, but he knew his thin patience was evident, “You need to take action and responsibility for yourself. The VA, the government, the cops – forget them. You can’t keep blaming them for why _you_ are in a rut. You can get pissed off all you want at Ori and the politicians, but it’s not going to change things. Just… look inside yourself. Fix your own problems before you try fixing the city’s.”

At Lewis’ silence, Shayne added, “If you need anything, you call me – got it?” Shayne lowered his head to try and meet Lewis’ flighty eyes. “I don’t care what happens or what it’s about – if you need me, let me know. Okay?”

With a deep furrow in his brow, Lewis looked Shayne’s way. The younger man’s pink face was twisted with uncertainty and doubt. “You really mean that?”

“Of course. You’re my friend, Lewis.” Shayne clapped a hand on Lewis’ shoulder. “Friends look out for each other. You’re not alone.”

When he saw Lewis’ quivering lip, Shayne reeled the poor guy in for a hug. He didn’t give a shit how much of a proud soldier Lewis was. The man was clearly falling apart at the seams and needed a friend. Lewis meekly leaned forward with an audible sniffle.

“You’re okay, man.” Shayne rubbed his hand along Lewis’ back, giving him a few solid pats as he did. “You’re okay.”

After barely a minute, Lewis pulled back with another sniff. He wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand and put on a strong face. Shayne watched him, waiting for any revelation or newfound desire to join group on Friday. In the end, Lewis nodded and exited the car. He had O’Connor’s service records in one hand, and the coffee in the other.

“Thanks, Shayne.”

Worry and frustration rumbled in Shayne’s gut. Lewis walked past the front door to circle the house – towards the foxhole in his backyard.

Shayne struck the steering wheel once and let out a sharp curse. He gripped it with both hands and felt a tick in his jaw as he let out a heavy breath. The anger was washing over him, as if to compensate for the feeling of despair on Lewis’ behalf.

Maybe Damien would know what to do. He’d been dealing with troubled vets for over a year now. Surely there was some trick up his sleeve to pull Lewis back in from the brink. But there was no way Shayne was disrupting his honeymoon with this problem all because he couldn’t deal with it himself. It was up to him to figure this out.

Lewis was on a downward spiral and Shayne had no clue how to stop it. Anything he thought of would just be delaying the inevitable breakdown, whatever form that may take. Exposing O’Connor as a fraud hopefully meant Lewis would keep his distance now. That meant one less bad influence – less corruption spreading to his impressionable, vulnerable mind.

With his discharge from the Army, Lewis had no purpose or mission. O’Connor had been manipulating him by providing him with a mission that benefitted his agenda and politics. If they cut ties as a result of this, Lewis would need to find a new direction. Shayne only hoped that this nudged him down that road of self-reflection and internalization – much like Shayne had the chance after dispatching the last of the gang members.

Shayne sincerely hoped he’d made the right call in handing over those service records.

His phone gave a loud buzz. He was so embroiled in his thoughts that he didn’t check the caller ID before raising it up to his ear.

“Hello?”

There was a pregnant pause. Then a familiar voice reached out.

“I miss you.”

Shayne’s heart may have just broken all over again hearing Courtney’s forlorn voice.

He gulped once before answering, “I miss you too.”

After the incident on Damien’s wedding night, things shifted between them. They hardly spoke five sentences to each other going back to her apartment, and later on still when he packed his things and left.

All because he was too chickenshit to face Courtney.

Too goddamn afraid of losing her and finding himself in a world of pain all over again. He’d told himself all the excuses across the next few agonizing days they spent apart. If a survivor of the gangs, one of the Blacksmith’s men, or someone tied to Reyes found out Shayne was alive, Courtney would be put in danger.

He told himself all that bullshit already, but it didn’t cover the plain and simple fact; the reason he put a stop to what they could’ve been that night.

He was chickenshit.

Shayne listened to the familiar sound of Courtney’s even breathing on the other end of the line. He could almost feel her warm breath fanning his face. The taste of lime and mint on her soft lips.

“I don’t…” Courtney took a breath, “I don’t like being apart.”

“Me neither, Court.”

Another heavy pause filled the air. This was so unlike them. Unlike the warmth and familiarity that they’d grown to share. They didn’t have awkward pauses. They talked, laughed, and had a blast whenever they were together. Even on their quiet days, they could simply bask in each other’s comforting presence. There were no long declarations needed to convey their unwavering support for one another. They simply existed together like two parts of a whole.

“Can we meet up, so we can clear the air? I – I don’t know what came over me and I just,” Courtney let out a regretful laugh over the phone, “I just want things to go back to the way they were.”

“Hey, Court – no, you didn’t do anything wrong. I…” Shayne was at a loss for words. He licked his lips as silence fell over the line.

There was no way to verbalize the raw and overwhelming fear that had run down his spine at the thought of losing her. That caring for her _that much_ was the scariest damn thing imaginable to him now, because he’d felt that pain and loss once before. He wasn’t sure if he’d survive feeling it all over again if the worst came to pass.

“Can you come over on Friday after you host group? Give us some time to…” She let out a tired sigh, “Figure it out. I-” Another sad laugh, “I really want to see you.”

“Friday is perfect, babe.” The words came out easily, as did the pet name. Shayne wanted a return to status quo just as much as Courtney did – he _needed_ her in his life. He didn’t know how to even _think_ of progressing beyond that. But for now, just going back to normal sounded like the best thing in the world. He owed her an explanation for that night. He’d work to fix this.

Courtney’s breathy chuckle over the line was music to Shayne’s ears. “Okay. Friday it is. Dinner?”

“Dinner is good.”

“Promise me you’ll show.”

“I promise.”

Nothing would stop him from keeping that promise.

* * *

It was Friday when the decision hung over Lewis’ head.

The afternoon was ticking by, and evening would soon fall on the city. Shayne was hosting group over at church, but he couldn’t imagine himself back there.

Talking – it didn’t help. The thoughts, the feelings in his mind – they were poison. They were rats – angry, starved rats in a cage. They scratched and they bit at each other to get to the top, and then they ran amuck in his skull.

The headaches wouldn’t stop. Sleep was – shit – what even was sleep?

He’d be lucky to knock off for more than two hours before the dreams came.

Hot sand underneath his boots. The sweltering sun beating down on him. The pounding gunfire of the enemy machineguns. Blood – the thick smell of copper in the air. The missile that tore apart his buddies – and then him.

The disembodied view he had – weightless and floating, yet with all the weight and burden of betrayal on his mind. The press officers lying, saying that Lewis Wilson died in an enemy ambush. He was bad at his job. He was a bad soldier.

Fuck them.

Fuck those liars.

Those assholes dominated his dreams and clawed at him in his waking moments.

He’d had enough.

Group was bullshit. It got nothing done. O’Connor may have been a liar, but he was right about one thing – talking didn’t work.

So no, there wasn’t a decision. Not really, anyway. He was done with that touchy-feely shit.

That left the only real course of action appropriate to Lewis: he had to confront O’Connor about his lies.

He drove his cab over to the man’s address. Lewis knew he lived alone. He’d divorced twice and claimed all women were bitches, warned Lewis off that dating was a waste of time. The house was a small, single story structure in the suburbs. The mailbox was leaning far off on its right side, like it’d been kicked or bumped a few times too many. Weeds dominated the yard as far as he could see.

When he peered in through the screen door at the front, Lewis realized he didn’t really think this far ahead. It was unlike the proud soldier he was – and he was a _good_ soldier. He planned, he prioritized, and he executed down to the last punctuation mark. His plans had contingencies – his contingencies had contingencies. That’s what made him and his squad good at their job.

He wasn’t thinking straight. He knew that. He wasn’t that oblivious to how tough this last week had been. After all, he’d spent the past few days debating with himself if he should even be doing this.

In the end, he knew he wanted to get answers. He deserved them. What he’d do with those answers, Lewis didn’t know. He didn’t know how this confrontation would go down.

All he wanted was the truth.

The government lied, the media lied, the justice system lied – there were liars every-goddamn-where. He was up to his fucking eyeballs in liars and traitors.

Lewis wanted the truth, and he would take it if he had to.

With the service records from Shayne in one hand, he depressed the doorbell with the other.

He set his jaw firmly in place and puffed out his chest as he waited for O’Connor to answer the door. He was shaking. It couldn’t have been the cold. It was a warm day out, and a fairly temperate evening. It was his goddamn nerves. Lewis cursed under his breath.

Be a good soldier.

No more shaking.

No more cowering.

He was here for the truth and nothing else.

He had nothing to be afraid of.

Truth had nothing to fear from inquiry.

O’Connor’s grizzled face appeared behind the screen door. He cracked a lopsided grin as if there were something highly amusing about the sight before him. The older man opened the door to allow him entry. With a barking laugh, he asked, “How was the pokey, kid?”

Lewis followed him into the living room with a clenched jaw and stiff steps. It was a goddamn mess. Lewis had been a teenager once. He knew what it was like to be a fucking slob. Joining the Army had ironed that out of him. Lewis kept a tidy and orderly space, and painstakingly folded his sheets every morning. In his foxhole, his sleeping bag was squared away before he began writing.

This place was a disgrace. Trash littered the floor. Crumbs scattered loosely on the tables and counters. Boxes of takeout were piled up, alongside empty beer bottles. The rank odor of mold and garbage permeated the air.

“You got yourself a new boyfriend?” O’Connor asked with another laugh.

Lewis’ booted footfalls were muffled by the carpet as he came to a stop in the center of the room. He fiddled with the documents in hand as O’Connor approached his minifridge. He seemed completely unaffected by his appalling living conditions.

“I’m guessing you want a beer?” He reached down to pluck out two bottles, “I tell ya – some things never change, like the state of the NYPD,” He let out a grumpy chuckle, “Fuckin’ pigs.”

“I can tell you some stories about those assholes,” O’Connor spoke with a grumble, “Like when I came back from-”

Lewis had enough.

No more fucking stories.

No more fucking lies.

“Like when you came back from Texas?” Lewis cut him off. He had a hand on his hip, while the other loosely held the documents. His bloodshot eyes continued to survey the room, taking note of his surroundings – another side effect of deployment. He always had to watch and observe. Always vigilant. Always aware of what was around him. Like the stacks of documents and pamphlets in the next room over. The VCR tapes kept in a heap on one table. The flags hanging on the peeling wallpaper – both American and Confederate. The kitchen knife lying idly on top of an empty pizza box.

“Because,” Lewis’ mouth ticked once in a sarcastic smile, “I – I read your records.”

O’Connor blinked at him. His eyes – usually tight with anger or half-lidded in dispassion and apathy – grew wide.

“What’re you talkin’ about?” His voice was gruff, to brush him off – to disregard him – to throw him away like the government had after it had deemed him unfit for service.

Lewis stepped forward to hand him the records. O’Connor glared at him all the while and accepted the papers with one hand. “Where’d you get this?”

“You… you never served in Vietnam.” Lewis flighty eyes finally stopped to level O’Connor with a calculating gaze. The older man studied the papers briefly, flipping through them with rough, careless hands.

“Where’d you get this from? The internet?” He let out a scoff and stammered, “You know the – the internet is run by – by the Jews – you can’t trust them.”

There was a twitch by the corner of Lewis’ eye. He unclenched his jaw and heaved his shoulders in a shrug, “What was the name of the airbase outside of Tam Ky? West of Tam Ky, that’s where you earned your Silver Star, right?”

“Y-yeah. Sure.”

“The airbase,” Lewis repeated sternly, “What was it named?”

At O’Connor’s clueless and stunned expression, the anger bubbled up in Lewis’ chest. It was red hot and threatening to spill out. He swallowed it down and spat out a sarcastic chuckle, “You could Google it. But if you were there, you would know.”

More silence.

Damning silence that spoke more volumes than any half-assed explanation or star-spangled story of valor would.

The silence of a liar and a fraud.

Lewis hung his head and sighed. “It’s Chu Lai,” He levelled his disappointed eyes back on the older man. “Chu Lai Airbase.”

O’Connor chuckled – a decidedly nervous sound – the sound of a cornered rat. “Yeah – yeah, of course. Chu Lai.”

Lewis’ glare prompted O’Connor to throw his arms up in a theatrical shrug, “How am I supposed to remember that? I’m an old man!” His tone took an aggressive tone when he growled at Lewis and pointed a finger, “Look, if you don’t like my stories, then you can go-”

“They’re not just stories!” Lewis shot back. “You can’t just – can’t just do that – going around telling people you’re some,” He scoffed, “Some kind of hero. You know what they call that?”

“What? What do they call that?” He snarled back.

“They call that stolen valor. You dishonor the soldiers – the _real soldiers_ out there who fought!” Lewis shook with contained rage as he gestured wildly, “You can’t do that!”

“Get the fuck out of my house,” O’Connor spat.

“You’re a goddamn liar. You-”

O’Connor’s large, meaty hand came to roughly shove Lewis.

He stumbled a few steps, back crashing into the wall. The older man had Lewis’ shirt gripped in a tight fist, and Lewis responded the only way he knew how. He sent his fist smashing into O’Connor’s face in several quick, stunning blows.

It was enough to stagger the man to the side – towards the countertop and its pile of pizza boxes. Lewis knew what was coming. He cursed his body for reacting late – it was unbecoming of him – of a _real_ soldier that had fought and served.

O’Connor swung the knife in a wide arc, catching Lewis in the ribs in a shallow cut.

It would be the only hit he would take.

The backswing came, and Lewis caught it with practiced arms. He fought to establish control of the weapon as O’Connor grew desperate. His arm flailed, grabbing at Lewis’ own arm, then his head – tugging on his ears in the effort to break the hold on his wrist.

Lewis twisted and turned in familiar motions until the knife came free.

His vision clouded with red.

O’Connor was a liar. A fraud. A traitor.

He dishonored the Army. He dishonored all the soldiers who’d sacrificed for the country.

Lewis drove the knife forward into O’Connor’s gut. The man’s shock mirrored Lewis’ own, but it was short lived. Lewis retracted the knife and stabbed once more. He threw his weight forward, sending O’Connor toppling onto his reclining chair.

He was a traitor of the worst sort.

He didn’t deserve to go on.

The white-hot rage overpowered Lewis. His ears were ringing as the blood pumped powerfully in his veins. The knife crashed down onto O’Connor in countless bloody strikes. As the older man let out a final gurgling breath, Lewis stepped back.

The red haze that blurred his eyes subsided

The seething rage bubbled down, only to be replaced by a heart pounding sense of dread and panic.

Lewis dropped the knife.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck!

He took a clumsy step back, knocking stray beer bottles onto their sides. The sharp sound of clinking glass startled him enough to have him jump to the side and bump into a shelf. The collision sent a stack of VHS tapes clattering to the ground. The harsh crash was deafening in the deathly silence of O’Connor’s house.

“Fuck!”

Lewis ran a bloody hand across his face. He paced in short circles, legs as light as air as the adrenaline coursed through him. His hands shook uncontrollably. His breathing grew shallow and ragged.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

This wasn’t how he’d planned this.

It was supposed to just be a confrontation – a verbal one – he’d just meant to talk to O’Connor and find the truth.

Not this.

Fuck. Not this.

Lewis took in a shuddering breath as he pressed his slick hands to his face.

What was his father going to think?

His life was over.

This was how it ended for him. He was going to jail for murder and that was that. Three square meals a day and a shitty cot.

It was over.

Unless –

Lewis’ bloodshot eyes flitted towards O’Connor’s body. He took a step closer and listened – through the pounding in his ears, he listened. A breath, a grunt, anything – _anything_ – to prove the worthless traitor was alive.

Nothing.

O’Connor was a motionless corpse. He was a goner. There was no undoing this.

He needed to think. There had to be a way to fix this.

No – no, there was no fixing this. He fucked up. He fucked up big time.

Lewis was still gasping for breath when he shambled over to the kitchen. He yanked the drawers open, wild eyes searching. Silverware crashed to the ground as he ransacked the space. He stumbled into what was the approximation of an office – stacks of folders and pamphlets filled the surfaces of the room. He tugged on a drawer – locked.

Lewis drove his boot into the table once, twice, until –

The drawer’s lock gave way with a snap. Its contents spilled to the carpeted floor, and Lewis located what he’d been searching for. He picked up the pistol and flicked the safety off. He checked the chamber – loaded.

He hobbled back into the living room with almost drunken steps. His finger was firm against the trigger guard, but his hands shook violently.

He was too sick in the head.

He wasn’t safe to be around.

He’d just killed a man in cold blood – there was no going back from this. He had to end this.

He would end this on his terms.

The world would be better for it.

As Lewis raised the gun up, his phone vibrated once. It was an innocuous notification – a simple chime signifying that a new hour had started.

But it reminded him of the promise made only days prior.

Lewis set the gun down and wiped his bloody hands on his even bloodier Army green shirt. He pulled his phone free from his pocket.

Shayne was his friend. He would know what to do. He could trust Shayne.

Shayne had good lawyers. Maybe they could help him claim self-defense to get a reduced sentence. Maybe his life didn’t have to be over.

Shayne was good. He could be trusted.

The line was ringing, and Lewis was waiting. He alternated between pacing in small circles and leaning against one wall as his gasping breaths normalized. His sticky hands would come up to pinch at the bridge of his nose or press into his tired eyes.

He just needed to be honest. Forthcoming. Shayne had been on the wrong side of the law before and now had a new identity. Maybe he could help him. It would be painful to say goodbye to his father but at least the world wouldn’t know that his father had raised a murderer.

That was if Shayne helped him go into hiding instead of turning him in and giving him good lawyers. Lewis didn’t know which he preferred, but both were better than the alternative he’d planned to take.

Shayne would know which was the better option. He promised he’d help.

But the line kept ringing. The call was unattended.

Lewis tried again. And again. And again. And again… and again.

And again.

“ _Your call is unattended at this time. Please check the number and-”_

Lewis furiously tapped at the red button to end the call.

Shayne lied to him too.

Lewis dropped to his knees and picked up the gun.

He couldn’t count on anyone.

The hammer was pulled back and the safety was still off. The gun was hot and ready to fire.

There was no running from what he’d done – not on his own.

Shayne wouldn’t help him out of this. Even after he’d promised his help for _anything_.

He was no better than O’Connor.

The cold steel of the pistol’s barrel slid into his mouth.

He was alone. Nobody could help him.

He didn’t deserve to go on either. He was a murderer – all because he couldn’t reel in his emotions. That wasn’t something a good soldier would do. A good soldier could compartmentalize.

His finger slid over to the trigger. Tears were streaming down his face now. His hand was shaking hard enough to rattle the barrel against his teeth.

It would probably take a few days for them to find him – a week, even. Not many would suspect to find him here. The media would have a field day when they did. Two dead veterans in a murder-suicide. The Left would love to spin their deaths this way and that. If only he could provide them some context.

His shuddering breaths stilled. Slowly, he pulled the gun from his mouth with a sharp gasp

O’Connor was a fraud and a traitor. But he was right about the government. About the liars and the cheats, and the corrupt justice system. Lewis hadn’t just let his emotions out. He was empowered by his rage to neutralize O’Connor, because he was the enemy.

Shayne wanted to play savior and be his helping hand, but only when it was convenient for him. But he and Damien were right about one thing. He needed to take matters into his own hands.

After all, that was what Shayne did. When his family was murdered, he picked up a gun and avenged them himself. The system failed him, and he took matters into his own hands. Some of the media and the public even stood by him for his actions – half the city thought he was a vigilante hero. That online news outlet – Smosh – was at the forefront of championing Shayne as more than just a killer. They cared about the truth. About what happened to his family and who he was as a person.

Lewis would give the media a story. His message would be clear. There would be no mistaking his actions or his intentions. That woman that wrote about Shayne – Courtney Miller or Karen Page or whatever it was she was going by these days – she would sympathize with his cause, just as she sympathized with Shayne’s.

He was alone in this world. Nobody was coming to help.

It only meant he had nothing to lose in his mission to take a stand against the liberties being robbed from the people.

Lewis set the gun down.

He had work to do.

* * *

Courtney was pulling out all the stops.

Max watched her with curiosity as she briskly paced across the kitchen to prepare dinner. He followed her movements from counter to stove, either hopeful for a scrap, or wanting to offer his help somehow. Courtney wasn’t sure which was more likely, but she was grateful for his attentive company just the same.

She’d received an old family recipe from Kari earlier that morning and was now toiling away in its preparation. It was a simple dish of chili and the morbidly named _funeral potatoes_ , all from scratch. Courtney had never been particularly adept at cooking, but she could follow instructions down to a T if need be.

The chili was simmering away, filling the kitchen with its savory aroma. The potatoes were in her oven and had some time to go before they were ready. She had both beer and wine chilling in the fridge. Courtney wasn’t sure which they’d want to crack open, but she was prepared.

Once the cooking was out of the way, she intended to change into a cute top and some leggings. She was even wearing her nice underwear tonight on the miniscule chance that they were moving forward.

But Courtney wasn’t going to push her luck.

Truth was that she was scared shitless. So scared that she hadn’t even called or texted Shayne to confirm if he was stopping by tonight. His word was bond, and she left it at that. Courtney didn’t want to risk calling Shayne only for him to say something came up. She wasn’t sure what she’d do with herself if that happened.

The week so far had been torturous enough as is. She felt like shit. The nightmares were back and plaguing her sleep. In her waking moments, she was reminded of Shayne’s absence in every tiny damn thing.

The empty space next to her in bed wasn’t unusual since he was always up so damn early. What nearly got her weeping on the first morning alone was the absence of the distinct scent of coffee the moment she woke up. Shayne wasn’t there at the table going over his coursework. No mug of coffee raised towards her in greeting. No warm cup pressed into her hands before he clinked his own mug to hers. All because she’d scared off the most considerate person on earth.

Then on the drive to work when her stomach gurgled with hunger, she was reminded of him again. Of how his paternal instincts never allowed her to get far without a bite to eat. The way he’d laugh when he got yogurt on her cheeks as he fed her while she focused on the road.

Of course, Sarah at work noticed his absence immediately. The second she was through the door and Shayne wasn’t there to see her off, Sarah asked, “Where’s your hot hipster?”

Then again at lunch, people couldn’t seem to mind their damn business. Courtney loved her friends – really. But sometimes she wished they’d just put a sock in it. It was Bradley this, Bradley that. She fucking scared Bradley away because she couldn’t keep her hormones under control and that was that.

The reporters had stopped harassing her by now when she left the studio. Piling into her car in the afternoon with Max in tow, there was nobody to studiously check the car for bugs or explosives. Bitterly, Courtney didn’t mind. At least a fiery explosion would grant her some reprieve from the heartache of her colossal fuckup.

Home was cold, dark, and lonely without him. For someone who could be so broody, Shayne had a way of lighting up her home. It wasn’t home without him anymore. Courtney wouldn’t admit aloud how she wept into her dinner the first night without him. Without his dumb jokes and his comforting presence. She must have spent an entire half hour cleaning her gun in the effort to put her mind at ease.

Max was acutely aware of her distress. He had lower energy than usual, and often wandered around the small apartment as if looking for Shayne. Whenever the tears would start flowing, he’d crawl up to her and whimper to get her attention. When Courtney granted it, Max licked at her face as he whined, desperate to help.

Going to bed, Max curled up right beside her when it was clear Shayne wouldn’t join her. Courtney was grateful for the overgrown pup’s caring instincts. They helped hold back the overwhelming tide of emotions. The feelings and sensations she’d come to know like the back of her hand that were now just gone. Warm breath on the nape of her neck. The deep rumble of a chuckle from his chest. The way he’d complain she burned as hot as a furnace in the night but held onto her anyway. And how he’d nag yet again about how her feet were cold in the morning but brushed against them with his own just the same.

If they couldn’t move forward and beyond the limbo that they’d established, then Courtney only hoped they could return to that line and continue walking it. She’d let Shayne tip them over the edge when he was ready. Whenever that may be. If that may even happen.

At least the nice underwear lent her a little bit of confidence. She needed as much as she could get. If this blew up in her face, then at least she knew that this set was cursed. She’d toss them in the morning for ruining her pathetic excuse for a love life.

Soon, the chili and its accompanying funeral potatoes were good to go. Max was already eating dinner as Courtney set the table. She walked over to her bedroom to change, still walking in that brisk pace. Shayne was a Marine through and through, so he was never late. They hadn’t agreed on a set time, just _dinner_. They rarely varied the time they ate together, so it was implicitly understood. Shayne should be here any moment now.

Once Courtney was changed, she returned to the dining table and parked herself in her usual seat.

She wouldn’t ambush him with it right away. She needed to just act natural and let the conversation unfold. No agendas or motives, just regular dinner at first. They could talk seriously when they were wrapping up. But if he brought it up, then Courtney wouldn’t shy away from it.

All she had to do was _not_ think of the minty, toothpaste-fresh taste of his soft lips.

She’d be fine.

But then the minutes ticked by until half an hour had passed. The freshly cooked meal had grown warm, and then cold. Shayne’s seat at the dining table remained empty.

Courtney bit the bullet and rang up his phone.

Shayne wasn’t picking up.

After the fourth time it went straight to voicemail, she left a message, “Hey, uh – Brad. It’s me. Where are you? Are you still coming over?” She let out a sad, dejected laugh, “Food’s cold. Please call me back.”

As time continued to crawl by, Courtney began to worry.

Had she scared him off that badly? Did he really not want anything to do with her after the wedding?

No, that couldn’t be it. Shayne promised.

Courtney pressed her knuckles to her mouth. She didn’t care anymore that her lipstick had smeared because of it. She wasn’t looking cute for anyone tonight, apparently.

What if he was hurt?

But that couldn’t be the case either. This was _Shayne_. Nobody could hurt Shayne but Shayne. If he’d gotten into trouble, he knew how to get himself out.

The memory of his safe and bug-out kit came to the forefront of her mind. If his identity was compromised, then that meant he was skipping town. But he would tell her if that was the case, surely… right?

No – no, he wouldn’t tell her. He’d keep her in the dark to _keep her safe_ and make sure there was no blowback that fell on her. He had to play the goddamn martyr.

Or maybe he really did just want to avoid her. This was her fault, after all. She was the one who couldn’t keep it in her pants and just had to kiss him. She’d ruined their status quo and sent him packing.

It was presumptuous of her to think Shayne felt the same way through and through.

Max was lying by her feet, chewing on his tennis ball. She’d already washed his food bowl. Courtney took the time to throw a jacket on, pack her gun, and take Max for his evening walk. Shayne would probably be there when she got back, or sheepishly waiting at the front door. He’d probably have some dumb reason for being late, like his car breaking down and phone running out of battery – fuck if she knew what his reason was.

She gave Max the time he needed to lazily sniff and acquaint himself with the different trees nearby. When it appeared that even he had grown bored of the walk, they returned to Courtney’s apartment.

Shayne was still nowhere to be found.

Courtney checked her phone again – as if she hadn’t been checking it every two minutes already – and found no new messages or calls. With a heavy heart, she faced the facts. Shayne wasn’t coming. It was already getting late and she’d lost her appetite.

Courtney packed the food away into containers. She considered the bottle of wine in her fridge for a moment. At the start of this terribly lonely week, she promised herself she wouldn’t do any sad drinking. The last thing she needed was to develop a habit to cope. Courtney resisted and shut the door.

Maybe this was what she deserved. This was what horndogs like her got for not being able to just enjoy the good things in life and wanting more, more, and more. They had a good thing going. It was pure and loving, even if it was inexplicably and fucking stupidly platonic. After all the pain Shayne had endured, she was stupid and insensitive for not considering how he must have felt. After a month of living together and being so hyperaware of his moods and his emotions, it was pure insanity that she’d managed to ruin that trust all in one night. That she managed to double back on all the good they’d built because of her lack of self-control.

Like the sap she was, Courtney pulled out the wedding photos from the small envelope they’d arrived in. She’d been eager to show them to Shayne. They arrived right on time, as the photographer said they would.

Maybe he would’ve gotten flashbacks to that night and bolted out of the door – who knows? All Courtney knew was that the photos were adorable. Once they’d gotten over the awkwardness of posing together for the shot, it was all natural for them. The arms they wrapped around each other were firm and full of affection. Their smiles were bright, and _goddamn –_ Shayne was such a knockout in that suit. It was a miracle her resolve lasted up until they returned to their room. Hell, Shayne should be thanking her for keeping her hands to herself most of the night.

The last photo made Courtney’s heart swell with melancholia. Shayne wore that dumbstruck look of his as the photographer berated him for not knowing how to pose with his _girlfriend_. Part of his face was scrunched up as she pressed a solid kiss to his cheek. She was just oozing adoration for him in that moment. How could she not?

And now she wasn’t going to get that chance again. They were done. It was over. Shayne wasn’t coming.

Courtney wasn’t keeping track of time by that point. She was just wallowing in her misery, curled up on the sofa next to Max. Bitterly, she decided she’d had enough of her waking mind tormenting her. At least her nightmares were predictable to a degree. But knowing her luck, the dreams would throw her a curveball, and she’d find herself emptying a magazine into Shayne, or something equally disturbing. Her mind liked to fuck with her like that.

She was about to tug her shirt off when a tapping sound broke the silence of her bedroom. Courtney paused and waited for the sound to repeat itself. Max gave a curious snort and padded over to the window leading to the fire escape. The gentle tapping of glass sounded off once more. She turned to the window and nearly jumped out of her skin.

Shayne was crouched out on the rusty fire escape. In the darkness, she could make out a few tears in his clothes, which were stained with blood. His chest heaved with heavy breaths and he appeared barely able to keep himself upright. He was pressing one hand to his midsection, while the other was clenching a brown paper bag.

Courtney’s legs moved automatically, sending her towards the window. Her now shaking hands undid the sturdy locks they’d installed together a month prior. The window was tugged open, and she was greeted by Shayne’s weak smile.

“Hey, Court. Sorry I’m late.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did Shayne get himself into this time? Updoots coming soon! Thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought of this one! Lewis' story just took a dark and violent turn and the brakes on this train have been disabled. I'll be transparent about it now - I don't think there'll be much more sections from his POV so we can keep up a degree of suspense and surprise. It was important to include this one since it's the tipping point where he snaps. I changed up the narration style for his section to try and reflect his mindset and how unhinged he's become by this point.
> 
> That's all I'll say for now. I just want to quickly take a moment to once again thank everyone faithfully reading and dropping comments. You guys make my day, and this story wouldn't be possible without your support. I hope all of you have a great day ahead. I'll catch you at the next update.
> 
> P.S. Anon has completed her fanart, and it's the best dang thing my little writer heart has ever laid eyes on. Do go check it out here: https://imgur.com/a/qgx80qL


	34. Sutures and Slippery Slopes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Courtney breaks out her first aid kit. Shayne reaches out.

Courtney took the brown bag from Shayne and tossed it onto her bed with a clatter. She slung his arm around her shoulders to take some of the weight off his clearly hurting self. Shayne didn’t complain. He simply let out a quiet grunt as Courtney hobbled them out of the bedroom.

“You scared the shit out of me,” Courtney glared at Shayne out of the corner of her eye, “Didn’t think of using the front door?”

“Thought maybe the lobby wouldn’t let me in looking like this.” Shayne’s words came out far more weakly than she expected.

Max let out a concerned whine as he trailed closely behind them. Courtney flung the bathroom door open, banging it against the tile wall in her urgency.

“Sit,” Courtney’s firm command left no room for argument.

Shayne let out a pained hiss as he sat down on the lidded toilet. “Yes, ma’am.”

Courtney couldn’t help the anger from popping off now that he was finally here. After spending hours worrying both about him and how she’d fucked up their relationship, here he was, bleeding like hell.

“No, don’t you fucking _yes ma’am_ me,” She snapped and didn’t bother looking his way before she stomped over to the kitchen to retrieve her first aid kit. It was a hefty red bag that rivaled that of any Army medic or Navy Corpsman. Courtney returned in moments and dropped it onto the ground, earning a wince from both Max and Shayne. The overgrown pup sat by the doorway, watching them with his ears tucked back in concern.

“Shirt off,” Courtney ordered.

Shayne looked at her with his lips slightly parted in surprise. He looked as though he had something to say but couldn’t put it into words.

“Either you take that off, or I’m cutting it off.” To prove her point, she drew a pair of surgical scissors from the kit and set it down in her sink.

Shayne got the message. With a grimace, he gripped the hem of his shirt and tugged it over his head. It hit the floor with a sickeningly wet squish. The sight that greeted her wasn’t a pretty one.

Whenever Courtney imagined a scenario in which she got Shayne’s shirt off, she always knew she’d be breathless at the sight of him. That was of course for a different reason entirely.

His muscular and well-defined torso was a map of scars, detailing every battle he’d been through, every fight he’d endured, every instance he’d decided he was coming home, and the other guy wasn’t.

Now wasn’t the time to ogle, though. There were more pressing matters at hand. Now that he was under the bright lights of her bathroom, she could assess his injuries. His long sleeves had been torn as well, concealing his wounded arm. The shirt hid his bastardized excuse for a field dressing around his torso.

“Shayne – duct tape? What the fuck?”

The man had the audacity to laugh at her bewilderment, and she just had to stop herself from smacking him for it. When he let out a pained grunt from his own laughter, Courtney bit back her smile that said, _serves you right_.

“It was all I had in the car, okay? I don’t exactly pack a trauma kit for emergencies anymore.”

Even with the anger and the schadenfreude, Courtney’s heart began to hurt for him. Frustration aside, she still loved the idiot. Courtney toned her bitterness back by a notch. It was time to get serious.

There were numerous strips of duct tape spread over two cuts – one along his forearm and another along his abdomen, just below the lower ribs. As gruesome as the duct tape was as an improvised bandage, Courtney had to admire the art behind his application. The adhesive strips were twisted to form MacGyvered butterfly bandages. They kept the incisions from opening up any further to stop him from bleeding out. Shayne very well could’ve passed out from blood loss on his way here if he hadn’t done this.

Aside from those two major lacerations, there were a number of smaller cuts both on his arms and body. Bruises marred his skin, including a small dark purple spot on his cheek. A cursory check of his hands told a story – they were both sticky with blood, and his knuckles were swollen and split.

There was no doubt about it. He’d been in a life or death fight. Knowing Shayne, whoever stood against him didn’t walk away.

Courtney took the time to wash her hands thoroughly before she began. It gave her a second to process the information – the fact he’d gone out punishing instead of meeting her for dinner. That he’d risked his identity and his life of peace to get his hands bloody.

But Courtney also didn’t want to jump to conclusions. Shayne wasn’t bloodthirsty. The peace he’d had the past few months were something he’d fought to attain. He wouldn’t just throw it away like that.

Once her hands were sanitized, she pulled her surgical gloves on and broke the silence. “What happened to the other guy?”

Shayne’s head was leaning to one side with a lazy droop. He squinted his eyes slightly to focus on her. He’d lost a lot of blood by the looks of it. Eventually, he answered evasively, “I took care of it. Don’t worry about it.”

“Shayne,” Courtney felt the fight leave her. All the anger simmered down to give way to heartache. She didn’t want this for him. She didn’t want him to fight. She didn’t want him to get hurt. They were in so deep already. She knew things about him nobody in the world would ever know. There was nothing he could say to her that would change how she felt about him. The fact that Shayne felt the need to shield her from his undoubtedly good-natured but bloody actions was a stab in the chest.

Courtney bent down to Shayne’s level, taking his face in her gloved hands. Her voice cracked a little as she pleaded, “Baby, you can’t just hide these things from me.”

“I’m sorry,” Shayne’s remorseful apology was out in an instant. He leaned forward and turned his head to brush a feeble kiss to her cheek. “I’m sorry.”

Courtney pulled back enough to look at his regretful face. Shayne gulped, and it made Courtney aware of the lump in her own throat. With a sigh, Shayne gave a firm nod. “I’ll talk.”

Courtney retrieved the suture kit from the bag as Shayne explained. His voice was gravelly and rough and far too reminiscent of Metro-General. “I don’t like walking the streets at night. I hear too much shit, you know? I could be walking and pass by some alley – I’ll hear a guy being mugged, a lady getting harassed, a drug deal going down – shit, it’s easier to name the things I _don’t_ hear.”

Shayne’s eyes were closed as he spoke. He was swaying slightly from side to side, unsteady from the blood loss. “I got more calls to 911 on my phone than I have to you or Dames.” A heavy sigh rocked his large frame. “I keep my head down and my nose clean. I don’t get involved.”

“I couldn’t do that tonight. I couldn’t sit this one out.” Shayne shook his head. “This guy was freaking out saying his daughter was grabbed and pulled into a van, kidnapped. I calmed him down a bit, helped him call the cops. But I recognized that MO.”

Courtney crouched down to Shayne’s level and interrupted him for a moment, “I’m going to cut the duct tape and clean the area, make sure there’s no debris in there. Then I’m going to suture the wound. It’s gonna start bleeding again and might hurt like a bitch, okay?”

At Shayne’s sure nod, Courtney got to work. Those first aid classes were paying off in spades.

“Russians worked with the Irish in their trafficking gig. Snatch and grabs like that are their signature. Back when I was dealing with the Irish, I’d heard about them. Put a pin in it, figured I’d deal with them some other time.” He let out a pained hiss as the cut on his torso leaked blood once more. “Never got around to it.”

“You tracked them back to their hideout or something?” Courtney undid the last makeshift bandage and got to cleaning the wound.

Shayne let out a cross between an affirmative hum and a pained grunt. “Some warehouses by the pier. Didn’t take long to find the right one since I staked them out before. I would’ve called the cops but,” He shrugged, “They were packing people into a shipping container. I didn’t think they’d get there in time, so I had to do something.”

“This is gonna hurt,” Courtney warned. Her needle was in position. She needed to close the wound now before he lost any more blood.

Shayne winced, but gave her the go ahead. “I didn’t use my gun. Didn’t leave any bullet casings on the scene. The knives that cut me are at the bottom of the river now.”

“You’re kinda leaking like a fucked-up fountain. You know that, right?”

Through the pain of the suturing, Shayne gave her a lopsided smile, “Yes ma’am, I am aware.” He shook his head then, “Any blood I left there is mixed with theirs, or on their clothes. It was too dark for the people I freed to see my face. There were no cameras. This isn’t coming back to me.”

Courtney was silent for a while as she focused on her needlework. It was a long, angry cut along his torso. She had to pause intermittently to dab at the wound as it leaked blood and obscured her view. Thankfully, it was also a clean incision. No jagged and torn tissue to worry about. No debris or broken metal stuck in the wound. It was just like her training.

The relief she felt was empowering in a way. It gave stability to her shaking hands. Shayne doubled down on that relief by assuring her, “You have to believe me, Court – I didn’t go looking for this fight. I never do.”

There was a sharp intake of air as Courtney tied off another suture. Shayne exhaled and added, “I don’t want to go back to that. Tonight, it was different. I felt partially responsible for not dealing with them last year. I couldn’t just do _nothing_. You have to understand that.”

“Is this going to become a regular thing?” Courtney asked, but only because she needed to hear Shayne say it out loud.

“No. It’s not.” Shayne’s light blue eyes were firmly locked onto her own. “I’m done with the fighting, I promise.” He gulped once more and added, “I have a good thing going for me, and I don’t want to waste that.”

Courtney’s eyes searched his for any sign of doubt or dishonesty. All she found was sincerity and fear – the fear that she wouldn’t believe him.

“Okay.”

Shayne gave her a weak smile. “Okay?”

Courtney could never stay mad at him. The déjà vu passed over her as she repeated once more, “Okay.”

It wasn’t long before the last suture on his torso was tied off, and the flow of blood had been staunched for good. Courtney cleaned up the excess blood until the stitched-up wound was as pristine as could be. She secured a clean bandage to his torso with a few strips of medical tape.

“Lemme see your arm,” Courtney motioned to the limb in question. Shayne obediently set his arm down onto his lap so Courtney could get a good look at it. It appeared to be no deeper than the cut along his abdomen. It was shorter, too. Less blood loss when she cut the duct tape off.

“You didn’t think to call me and let me know you’d be late?” Courtney couldn’t help but ask. She snipped his makeshift bandage open to clean the wound.

Shayne gave another grunt as the nasty cut was disinfected. Courtney spared him a glance to see his apologetic smile. He told her, “I didn’t charge my phone before I left home. Battery ran out while I was helping that guy call 911. Believe me, I would’ve let you know otherwise.”

Courtney scoffed. Not quite directed at Shayne, but at how innocuous the reason for his radio silence was. As Courtney prepared her suturing kit, she found herself drawn to one of the scars on his forearm.

She did her fair share of checking Shayne out during their one month together. As a result, she was rather familiar with the many subtle scars marring his arms from all the blades he’d narrowly avoided. But she sometimes missed small things like this. It was the scar he’d earned when he took a shiv straight through the forearm to neutralize the inmate and get to her. It healed quite nicely. The little welt was hardly more than a memory.

Courtney’s thumb brushed against the scar for a moment. She sometimes still dreamt of that gruesome day. Mike snapping her neck, Shayne being beaten to death – there was plenty of nightmare fuel from that brief and bloody encounter. And of course, there was Shayne’s hauntingly earnest declaration that he’d do anything for her.

“That one hurt like a bitch,” Shayne muttered. The brutal honesty in his voice startled a little laugh out of Courtney. But when she saw his weak smile, she turned her attention right back to the task at hand. He was faint from the blood loss. Courtney sutured the cut to the best of her ability. Her first aid instructor’s voice was clear and present in her mind. She used it as a guide to follow along and ensure a clean job.

“You’re pretty good at this.”

“Yeah, well,” Courtney tied off another suture, “When I took those classes, it was like, _just in case_ , you know? Didn’t think I’d be stitching up your sorry butt.”

“Hm,” Shayne hummed, and the familiar sound tugged at Courtney’s heart. She missed that damn voice. “My sorry butt says thanks.”

“Tell your sorry butt to stay out of trouble, hm?” Courtney got a glimpse at his subtle smile while she worked.

“Yeah.” Shayne pursed his lips in consideration, “I think I can pass that message along.”

Shayne was getting woozier and woozier as time passed. Thankfully, Courtney was finishing up now. The two severe wounds were dealt with. Shayne was out of the woods now, but he was still covered in smaller, shallower cuts that Courtney wanted to clean. Shayne needed to replenish that lost blood, get some food and liquid in his system.

“Wash your hands,” Courtney instructed, “I’ll be back.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Shayne accepted her helping hand in getting up to his feet. He swayed side to side like a tipsy lightweight. Courtney waited patiently as he got his footing. The way his eyes were half-lidded and tired made Courtney worry all the more. He needed bedrest once they were through with the first aid.

Shayne was leaning against one wall as he washed his hands, wincing as the water made contact with his split knuckles. Courtney excused herself to head to the kitchen. Max kept Shayne company in the meantime. Courtney scooped the now cold leftovers into a bowl and shoved them into the microwave. As dinner was heating, she poured a cup of orange juice and grabbed a few tablets of Vitamin C. They helped with the iron absorption, which was much needed in replenishing the lost blood. Lastly, Courtney snagged some painkillers.

Shayne was already seated back on the lidded toilet when Courtney returned. His head lazily swung to look at her, and he cracked a smile. “Wow – dinner in the bathroom. Gotta give the Miller Residence five stars on Yelp.”

“You’re such an asshole,” Even as the words left Courtney’s mouth, she was grinning at the idiot. At least he didn’t bleed away his sense of humor. Shayne accepted the bowl of chili and potatoes with a nod of his head – deep and grateful. Though Courtney suspected he only bowed that deeply because he lacked control of his finer motor functions. She didn’t dwell on the side effects of his blood loss. He was loopy and woozy, but on the road to recovery.

Courtney put on a fresh pair of surgical gloves then retrieved the rest of her materials for the night – disinfectants, cotton balls, and a handful of band-aids and bandages. There were a couple of cuts along his torso – indicative of the knife fight he’d won. Courtney could tell these cuts were sustained at the edge of the other combatant’s reach. If Shayne had been an inch closer when these swings came in, she’d be stitching up far more than two wounds.

She crouched down, returning to her original position. Her arms rested on Shayne’s lap, waiting for him to move his own arms and give clearance to work. Instead, Shayne was looking at the bowl intently, a small frown at his brow.

“It’s not poisoned, Shayne.” Courtney got his unfocused eyes to fall on her. “If I wanted to hurt you, I would’ve done this,” Courtney poked his stitched-up cut, earning a sharp inhale from Shayne.

“I deserved that, huh?” Shayne wore a cross between a grimace and a smile.

“Yeah, bud. Kinda.”

Shayne regarded her with sad eyes for a long moment. Then he took a spoonful of chili and potatoes and extended it to her. “You didn’t eat dinner, did you?”

Courtney sighed. The deep sadness that had welled up in her chest just an hour prior resurfaced. “No.”

“C’mon. You deserve the first bite.”

Courtney intended to turn him down, but knowing Shayne, he wouldn’t budge. When he gestured slightly with the spoon, her stomach grumbled. So fine, taking the first bite wouldn’t hurt. She accepted the spoonful of food, which wasn’t half bad. After chewing and swallowing, she motioned to Shayne, “You need that more than I do. Eat up.”

Shayne mixed the bowl, staring at it like it was the most fascinating thing in the room. “Thanks, Court. For patching me up, the food – everything. I owe you big time.”

Before Courtney could casually brush it off, he added, “I’m sorry. Should’ve made the effort to reach out to you before I went off risking my neck like that.”

“It won’t happen again, not like this. I promise.” Shayne’s arms finally raised up, so she had easy access to cleaning up his chiseled and wounded torso. He leaned back to give Courtney all the space she needed. Her eyes glanced at the wedding ring hanging from his neck before they ran over his body.

His skin truly was a tapestry that spun the tale of all he’d been through. Some scars were redder and angrier. These were more recent, likely gained during the war he waged against The Blacksmith and the gangs. Others were paler and fading away. Some had been cuts – clean, like with a knife. Others were more rough and jagged, likely the result of shrapnel. There were the unmistakable entry and exit points of bullets as well. You could take a brush and paint over his skin where his body armor had protected him. His center mass had the least scarring.

A quiet part of Courtney – the part that longed for him far more deeply than she should – wished to learn the stories behind each one. Her eyes trailed up past his pecs and towards his shoulder, where another scar was healing – the bullet he took in the precinct. When Courtney realized she’d been staring, she glanced up to Shayne. He watched her with those tired, drained eyes of his, waiting for a response.

Courtney loved this reckless fool too much to stay mad at him. In her heart of hearts, he was forgiven the moment he showed up bloodied like hell on her fire escape. He’d kept his promise, even if he _was_ late. Courtney continued to clean up and bandage the rest of his wounds. Like it was the most obvious thing on earth, she told him, “It’s all good, Shayne.”

The bathroom was silent for some time, save for the clinking of Shayne’s spoon, and his gulps as he downed the OJ and the medley of pills. In between bites of his own, he extended the spoon to Courtney so she could eat as well. Max sat vigilantly (or hungrily) watching them the entire time. This wasn’t really her idea of a nice dinner with Shayne, but she was simply happy to have him back. The tension between them had subsided for the most part. The elephant in the room had still yet to be discussed, sure. But they’d spoken more tonight than they had the whole week. Progress was progress.

When his arms and torso were looking better, Courtney turned her attention to his knuckles. They were swollen and split, indicative of all the faces they’d crashed into. Courtney turned the hand over to check for any additional cuts before she got to work. She’d always loved Shayne’s hands. They told a story of their own. Back in the hospital, they were callused from all the firearms he’d been handling prior to his arrest. It was concentrated on the space between his thumb and trigger finger, where it had absorbed the kick of his pistol for thousands of rounds.

Over the months of the trial, they became the mundane sort of calluses you get from doing heavy lifting – thanks to his yard time in prison. Now, it was the same. He wasn’t routinely handling guns to deadly effect. These were the big, strong hands that were both comforting and tantalizing to be held by. Courtney gave Shayne’s hand a fond squeeze before continuing to clean up the cuts.

Shayne was still woozy and would likely feel that way for the rest of the night. His head lolled back from time to time, eyes shut like he was conserving energy. Courtney intended to put him to bed next. The last of his wounds were cleaned up, and she’d wiped him free of blood with a damp cloth. He was mostly good as new. Now he needed clothes since his were either torn up or stained with an obscene amount of blood. Courtney took the bowl and the glass to set them aside so she could take him to her bedroom.

Unfortunately, he was even weaker on his legs than last time. Shayne may not have been particularly tall, but he was a _big_ guy. He was a solid wall of muscle that took a lot of effort to support and keep upright. Courtney tried not to let it show how difficult it was maneuvering him into bed. She got him to sit down and told him to ditch the jeans, the front of which were more red than denim blue.

“I – I can take care of it.”

Courtney fixed him with a dubious glare to shoot him down, but he was stubborn anyway. Shayne’s heavy hands spent an entire minute unbuckling his belt and unbuttoning his jeans. It was soon apparent to even him that he needed help. He flopped down in surrender and allowed her to take charge. Courtney tugged his pants off with ease. She tried not to stare at the sight of Shayne in nothing but his boxers.

She failed.

With a bite of her lips and a deep flush in her cheeks, she absolutely failed.

After dropping the pants off in her bathroom, she found the old clothes he’d used on his first night – her brother’s joggers and her spare Punisher shirt.

“Butt up,” Courtney’s command was received with a mumbled _yes ma’am_. After getting his legs in, he performed a meek bridge to allow Courtney to pull the pants all the way up. “Get those frog arms up.”

Shayne’s face broke into a grin as he raised his arms. Courtney pulled him upright and dropped the shirt down over his head. With that, Shayne was successfully clothed. He unceremoniously flopped back down after that. As he did, his arm bumped into the brown paper bag he was holding when he first arrived.

Curiously, Courtney reached over to inspect the mystery package. “What’s this?”

Courtney peered within the brown bag just as Shayne replied in a mumble, “Frames.”

Picture frames.

Three of them, for the three wedding photos that were delivered.

“You…” Courtney trailed off for a beat. Her eyes went back and forth between the simple black frames and the nearly unconscious man on her bed. “You remembered.”

In his blood-loss induced stupor, Shayne chuckled. “Of course I did.” He let out a sigh and shifted slightly to get comfortable, “Couldn’t wait to get my hands on the wedding night pics.”

Courtney could kiss him, but that would just bring things back to square one. To avoid another train wreck, Courtney put a healthy distance between herself and Shayne.

“I’ll just clean up. You better be asleep by the time I get back.”

In Shayne’s weakened state, he managed out a grumble that Courtney decided was in agreement. Luckily, Shayne didn’t drip any blood in the bedroom when she first pulled him in. It had all been contained to the bathroom.

While cleaning up the mess in the bathroom, Courtney inevitably dwelled back on their whole reason for meeting up. Wooziness and faintness aside, it looked as though they were on the road to normalcy. Those pet names and pecks to the cheek were back. There was no awkwardness that lingered between them, save for the slightest tension in the air – which wasn’t much considering how out of it Shayne was. They still needed to talk about that. But Courtney was cautiously optimistic. It was clear they both just wanted to be okay again.

As Courtney returned to the bedroom half an hour later, she resolved to bring it up in the morning when he was feeling better. She’d pulled the dead phone out of Shayne’s jeans earlier, so now she plugged it into the charger by her bedside. A gander towards Shayne revealed he seemed to be out like a light. Since the coast was clear, she tossed her shirt up and over her head before peeling off her leggings. Courtney changed into something more comfortable. She crawled into bed while Max hopped up to claim his usual spot.

Shayne was apparently a light sleeper even in his messed-up state. His eyes cracked open a fraction and his head craned to look over at her. A part of Courtney expected Shayne to keep his distance or scoot over to give her space. Instead, he reached out for her with his uninjured arm. It made Courtney’s heart swell with happiness.

Courtney could never say no to an invitation like that.

She gave in and pressed herself into his side, savoring the warmth of his body. Her legs wrapped around his and her hand settled on his chest. Shayne’s arm lazily snaked over her shoulders. With a gentle tug, he pulled her closer to brush his lips to her forehead.

It was such a return to normalcy that Courtney nearly wanted to cry.

But as soon as that feeling came to pass, Shayne managed to cause the anxiety to bubble back up when he began, “Court, about what happened at the wedding…”

“I’m sorry,” Courtney burrowed her face into his chest. She couldn’t look at him and deal with the heartache at the same time. Seeing his dumb, handsome, concerned face would break her. “I – I shouldn’t have sprung that on you. It was selfish and-”

“Hey…” His voice was husky with both sleep and exhaustion. It rumbled out from his chest in that way she loved so damn much. It was enough to cut her off before she became a stammering, babbling mess.

“You didn’t do anything wrong. I mean… let’s not kid ourselves, we were both thinking about it.”

The admission was enough to jumpstart the sleeping butterflies in her stomach. They only got friskier as he went on, “This – us – it was bound to happen eventually. I’m sorry I freaked out.”

“It’s not your fault,” Courtney whispered back. She could never blame him for the way his tragic and bloody past haunted him.

“It is.” Shayne’s voice was always soft in the darkness of her bedroom. Tonight, it was softer still – both from his faintness and from the intimacy of their whispers. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, Courtney. Hurting you is the last thing I’d ever want.”

Courtney remained quiet, allowing him to explain himself and give a glimpse into the inner machinations of his jumbled mind. “I like you, Court. A lot. That should be obvious by now,” Shayne’s honest laugh was soft enough to make her heart do a little flip. She could lose herself in that laugh. “But I’m… shit, Court. I’m just a broken guy. Got a couple screws loose. Most days I can’t even figure out how to live my life.”

“But when I got you – y’know – shit just makes sense again. Left is left, right is right. I’m not second guessing myself every fuckin’ second of the day.”

Courtney pressed herself tighter against Shayne’s sturdy body. She was careful not to make contact with the bandage around his abdomen. Her nails gingerly traced patterns along the skull of his shirt.

“But at the same time, I’m just,” Shayne huffed out a short laugh, lost and confused. He licked his lips and mumbled, “You scare the shit out of me, Courtney.”

“I wouldn’t ever want to hurt you either – you know that right?” Courtney risked raising her face from Shayne’s chest. She leaned her chin against him to look at the soft frown on his features.

“I know. I guess that’s part of what scares me so much.” He flashed a tired, rueful smile. “I don’t know when I’ll be ready for anything like that – anything more than what we have now. If I lose you too…”

“You won’t, Shayne.” Courtney’s hand trailed along his chest, up his neck, and cupped his bearded cheek. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Court, you can’t know that. Never in a million years did I expect that day in Central Park. There’s no guarantees in this life – no telling when shit hits the fan and takes everything away.”

Courtney wanted to fight for their future. They’d done so already so many times. What difference did it make if she was fighting for their romantic involvement? It was in her nature to stick up for herself and for what she thought was best. If she were hurt – or worse – Shayne would be in no more pain now than if they were romantically involved. But as she gazed at Shayne’s pained face, she figured a fight wasn’t what Shayne needed right now. He’d healed much of his trauma the past few months, but she couldn’t rush it any further along.

For the longest time, Courtney had upheld the idea that Shayne needed to set the pace. It had brought them closer than ever before, however slowly it may have unfolded. Even if Shayne didn’t fault her for kissing him that night, it was still on her that they hit this bump in the road. When Shayne was ready to move on to something deeper and more intimate, he would. Courtney trusted that he would.

“Okay, babe.” Courtney leaned forward to place a kiss to his cheek, dangerously close to the corner of his mouth. She savored the sensation of his well-kept beard tickling her face, “Whatever you need, okay? I’m here. I’m with you.”

It was enough to put Shayne’s troubled mind at ease. “Thanks, Court…” He trailed off like sleep was slowly wrapping its tendrils around him. She was glad. He needed more than a little rest and TLC to get back to peak condition.

Before Courtney could pull away and rest her head on his chest, Shayne managed to mumble out, “It was a nice kiss though.”

Courtney swore her heart could’ve flatlined in that moment.

“Shut up,” Courtney grumbled. Her cheeks flushed warm with embarrassment.

Shayne’s eyes cracked open to look at her. Through his exhausted haze, he managed to flash her that shit-eating grin of his. It simmered down to a gentler smile. With a soft voice he told her, “Sorry I ruined it.”

“It’s okay.” Courtney tried to avoid Shayne’s eyes – a difficult task, given how close their faces were. She was acutely aware of those deep ocean eyes scanning her face. Always taking her in and looking right through her. Even after losing way more blood than any person should, those eyes were still drinking her in.

Shayne’s hand – on his bad arm, Courtney noted – inched up to cup her blushing cheek. His thumb caressed her face with enough affection to make her melt. The sigh Shayne released was warm against Courtney’s face. It was a little too reminiscent of that night at the wedding. She knew how it ended the last time their faces were barely inches away from each other. Courtney was about to put distance between them when Shayne spoke up again.

“I can’t know how long it’s gonna take for me to be ready for you, Court. The pain, the fear – it’s so real,” To prove his point, Shayne gingerly took her hand and placed it over his heart. It was thundering within the confines of his chest. It beat far harder and faster than it should for someone just lying in bed recovering from blood loss.

Courtney understood and empathized. It was crystal clear when he’d first said it, and it was clear now. The reiteration just sent a small pang of longing in her heart. “I get it.”

“But Court,” Shayne craned his head just a little to try and meet her shifty eyes. “I want this. I promise I’ll be ready someday.”

Courtney’s heart was racing now, as if wishing to outpace Shayne’s own galloping heart. With a squeeze of her hand before he released it, Shayne tenderly cupped her cheek once more. Slowly, gently, he guided her face forward until their foreheads met.

This was dangerous ground. The fluttering butterflies in Courtney’s stomach were warning her as much. They were so damn close _again_. She could feel the radiating heat of his body, his breath fanning her face, the soft strokes of his thumb on her cheek – shit, all it would take was a tilt of the head. Then of course Shayne managed to be eyeing her lips and kicking down the self-restraint she’d just built up.

Before her resolve could fail, she asked, “What are you doing, Shayne?”

“Making a promise.”

It was Shayne who closed the distance this time.

His lips were just as Courtney remembered them – and God knows she thought of them far too often, guilt or no guilt. Soft, tender – yet somehow a little beaten up, probably by all the anxious lip biting. She smiled into the kiss when she could taste a hint of orange juice.

Courtney’s hand slid up towards his neck, thumb brushing along his strong jawline before settling on his face. She could feel Shayne’s own lips breaking into a small smile as her fingers toyed with a few loose strands of his long hair.

Without alcohol clouding their judgment and spurring on their urges, the kiss was different from the first – in a good way. They took their time. Their lips explored one another with slow, tender movements. The hands they had on each other’s faces and bodies were leisurely and weightless. There was no rush or sense of urgency to their actions. Only deep running feelings of compassion and trust.

It was like Shayne said – a promise.

The kiss ended far too soon when Shayne eased his head back into the pillows. Courtney was powerless to stop herself from making the slightest sound of protest when deprived of his lips. He was gazing up at Courtney with a dazed, dreamy sort of look on his face. Courtney didn’t want to think about the lovesick expression she probably wore at that moment.

In spite of it all, Courtney had never felt more content and secure in her life. At least, as long as her hammering heart didn’t give out on the spot. Shayne made his promise and somewhat literally put his money where his mouth was. There wasn’t the smallest shred of doubt left. This idiot she’d fallen in love with was here to stay. Courtney didn’t care anymore how long it would take for him to overcome the fear and the pain that threatened to overwhelm him. She’d stand by his side and help him through it no matter what.

Shayne then had to go and ruin the moment with his lopsided smile and his quip of, “That’s all you’re getting out of me for a while. No refunds or returns. Don’t even think about stealing one either.”

“Stealing – what, stealing a kiss?” Courtney paused for Shayne’s _yup_ , before she groaned, “God, you’re so stupid.”

Shayne’s soft laughter was contagious. He stopped abruptly to press a hand to the stitches on his abdomen. With a wince, he muttered, “That’s gonna sting for a while.”

“Go to sleep.” Courtney rested her head on Shayne’s broad chest. “The more rest you get, the sooner that heals.”

Courtney’s head eased up and down with the rise and fall of Shayne’s chest as he let out a sigh. His arm came back to wrap securely around her shoulder. “Night, Court.”

“Good night, Shayne.”

* * *

Shayne thought he’d be able to catch a break for once. Back in the Corps and during the personal war he waged, he was used to getting injured and moving on. That was just another day in the office for him. Rarely did he have the luxury of time to get some R&R after patching himself up. After the scuffle by the warehouses, he was eager to take it easy for a week or so until he was back to tip top shape.

He’d gotten sloppy last night. The luxury of peace and relaxation had done that to him. Shayne had no intentions of strapping his vest back on, but his close call was a grim reminder. If he ever needed to intervene at a moment’s notice, he had to be ready. He had to keep his combative skills sharp just in case. Shayne hoped it would never come to that – hell, he’d be glad if he never had to _see_ a human trafficker again. Leave it all to the police to do their jobs and he’d happily step back. But there was really no telling. If it were life or death, he couldn’t in good faith do nothing.

That being said, the cut on his abdomen hurt like a bitch. His arm didn’t burn as badly, but it was enough to make him glad he was righthanded. The painkillers helped. Shayne would’ve enjoyed nothing more than to lie in bed with Courtney until noon for a lazy Saturday morning.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t an option. The seven missed calls from Lewis, and his subsequent refusal to answer Shayne’s calls, formed a pit in Shayne’s stomach. He’d made the promise that he could be counted on and he fucked up. Something was wrong, and he could feel it.

After seeing the sharp red notifications on his phone, Shayne was nearly out the door in his Punisher shirt and joggers. Courtney was able to wrangle him to eat breakfast and calm down before he set out. She understood the urgency. But she also made the fair point that he’d be helping no one by collapsing behind his steering wheel. With some reluctance, Shayne stayed to eat. He was still lightheaded and feeling a little weak but felt leagues better than he did last night.

As Shayne’s ever supportive partner in crime, Courtney offered to tag along. He’d considered it, but felt it was best if he talked to Lewis alone first. The poor guy was like a cornered animal sometimes, only ever letting people he knew get close.

Damien would be getting back from his honeymoon later in the week. Shayne would’ve liked to have him as backup, but seven missed calls tended to denote a sense of urgency. He’d have to fill Damien in once he arrived. For now, Shayne had to deal with this himself – whatever _this_ was.

So, Shayne set out that day alone, dressed up in a flannel shirt Courtney had stolen from him at some point, and a pair of jeans he’d forgotten in her closet. He made it a point to keep his sleeves rolled down to conceal the bandage on his arm.

Shayne hesitated once he parked his car in front of the Wilson Residence. He held his shaking trigger finger with his other hand as the anxiety and guilt bubbled up within him. There was no telling what mess Lewis got himself into last night, but those calls were cause for alarm. A promise was a promise, and Shayne hated to break one. All the more when the promise was over something as important as this – like being the younger vet’s last lifeline as he teetered over the edge of his own sanity. Lewis looked like he was walking a tightrope above the inky blackness of the despair and darkness in his mind. Shayne may as well have cut the rope himself.

When Shayne finally mustered up the courage to step out of the car, he received a call from an unknown number. It was Clay Wilson, Lewis’ father. He’d gotten ahold of Shayne’s number from Damien some time back, just in case. When Clay realized Shayne was right there, he opened the front door, allowing him into the modestly sized house.

Shayne’s eyes took in his surroundings. It was neat, but that may have been due to how sparsely decorated the house was. It had all the essentials, but the lack of a home-y touch made it feel cold. It was the hallmark sign of a house that wasn’t really a home – just a place to eat and sleep before getting back out. Shayne noticed a small handful of pictures mounted on the walls. They were of Lewis, Clay, and a woman – his mother. He’d never heard of Lewis’ mother before, only his father. He wondered how long she’d been out of the picture and whether it was by choice or by tragedy.

Clay reminded Shayne of Lewis. They had a similar nervous energy to them. But while Lewis fidgeted and avoided eye contact, Clay was all sad smiles and hospitality. He ushered Shayne into their kitchen to talk. He pressed a cup of coffee into Shayne’s hands – his second cup in just as many hours, but he wouldn’t complain. Clay was wearing a pressed button-down shirt and had his salt and pepper hair neatly parted and combed.

After sipping his coffee, Shayne tried to break the tension before getting into the thick of things. “You, uh – you goin’ somewhere?” He motioned to the blazer draped over the back of one dining chair.

Clay leaned against the kitchen island as he answered, “Sales conference out of state. I’m screwed if I miss it. Falling behind on the mortgage payments as is – you know how it is.”

For sure. Paying off his old house in the suburbs was a bitch. It was one of life’s bitter ironies that it was fully paid off not long before the massacre at the park.

Shayne gave a halfhearted chuckle, “I understand the feeling, sir.”

“Please – call me Clay.” The man gave a brief smile as he ran nervous fingers over the side of his own mug. “Brad – can I call you Brad?” At Shayne’s nod, Clay continued, “My boy didn’t come home last night. I called to ask if maybe you’d seen him. I thought,” He let out a dejected chuckle, “Maybe you and the doc got him on a drunken bender or something.”

Shayne frowned and shook his head, “I haven’t seen him in a few days now. He tried to call me last night but…” He consciously stopped his trigger finger’s tapping against the mug. “I was preoccupied.”

“Got something to do with those?” Clay pointed at the dark spot on Shayne’s face, and his knuckles which were either bruised or covered with band-aids.

With a wry smile, Shayne answered, “You should see the other guy.”

It brought a smile to Clay’s face, but it was gone in moments. “I’m worried about him, Brad. He’s been sleeping in that hole again. It’s gotten worse. It hasn’t been easy ever since my wife passed away. Cancer’s a son of a bitch, you know?”

That answered his earlier question.

“I’m sorry to hear, Clay.”

Shayne took long sips of the warm coffee. He tried to wash down his apprehension with the coffee’s bitter bite. It was challenging to lead the veterans’ support group yesterday before his night got derailed. When Lewis didn’t show, he had to contend with the unease in his stomach throughout the whole event.

“I’ve tried to talk to him,” Clay continued, “But he’s just not… receptive. It’s like the kid’s put up these walls and he won’t let me in.”

Shayne tried not to think too hard of how that description sounded a lot like himself before Courtney worked her magic on him. One of the main differences was that Courtney somehow made him believe in the future – in that _after_ she and Bell talked about. She inspired him to hope for something more than a bloody death and a shallow grave. Lewis had to either want help or believe in it so they could start making progress. Shayne feared things would get out of hand soon if they couldn’t achieve either.

“Clay, I’ve been in some pretty dark places myself,” Shayne frowned as his emotions flared for just a split second. The copper tang mixing with the earthy smell of grass in the air, the metallic taste of blood in his mouth, crimson staining pale flesh, the thundering sound of gunfire – Shayne took another gulp of coffee to push down the vivid flashes. “You get stuck in there, lost in your own head. Lose yourself in that darkness.”

Shayne’s lips were parted for a beat. He would wake up in a violent panic nearly every night when Damien was nursing him back to health. It was despair, depression, and endless, echoing loneliness of the worst sort. Shayne wouldn’t wish it on his worst foes – not even Colonel goddamn Schoonover himself.

“That darkness in your head – it becomes your new home. You live in it. You’re comfortable in it. Pretty soon, you don’t even wanna get out. It’s familiar – it’s safe. Everybody but yourself can tell you’re off the deep end.” Shayne’s shifty eyes fell anywhere but on Clay. He moved his weight from one foot to the other as he grumbled on, “That’s the problem, Clay. When you don’t wanna get out – ‘cause you either think you can’t, or you don’t deserve it.”

Shayne gave a helpless shrug. “You’re stuck. No way out unless you let people in.”

“Is that what you did, Brad?” Clay asked, “Let people in?”

Shayne didn’t let Courtney in nearly as much as she deserved. He was too chickenshit for that.

But he was working on it.

They’d get there eventually. He promised as much.

“Yeah,” Shayne cleared his throat, “I did. But I’m worried Lewis doesn’t want to get out. We can’t force him out of that hole or the – that darkness in his head. We’ll only push him further in that way. He’s gotta accept our help.”

Clay was silent for some time as he considered Shayne’s words. Eventually, Clay’s phone gave a buzz, reminding him it was time to leave. After washing their mugs, Shayne walked Clay out to his car. He’d be gone for about a week. Clay didn’t want to obligate Shayne to stick to his son like glue, but he did ask to check in with him and figure out if he was in one piece. The sedan peeled away from the driveway and out into the street. Shayne watched it disappear around the curb and stood there for a moment longer.

There was the brief temptation to check out Lewis’ foxhole or his actual room in the house – maybe find something that could lead to wherever he was. Shayne reminded himself that was breaking and entering – or at least trespassing – and he didn’t violate the law anymore. Bradley Russo was a law-abiding citizen. Most of the time.

A cab then rolled in from the opposite street, slowly making its way over to the house. Shayne blinked in surprise at the turn of events. The car eventually came to a stop in front of him, and out stepped Lewis. Shayne didn’t think it was possible, but Lewis appeared to be in even worse shape than the last time they’d met. His bloodshot eyes were redder than usual, and his face appeared pale and gaunt. Instinctively, Shayne glanced at the younger man’s hands. He couldn’t tell if Lewis’ knuckles were bruised or not.

The strangest part about Lewis’ appearance was his clothes. He wore a loose-fitting plaid top, instead of his usual greens and khakis. His jeans were baggier as well. The desert boots were standard, though.

Lewis’ hard eyes glared at Shayne, who stood in his path. “What are you doing here?”

“You called me,” Shayne kept an even tone. “Seven times.”

“And you didn’t answer, so thanks for nothing.” Lewis tried to sidestep Shayne, only for him to match his stride. He blocked Lewis’ path and ignored the glower he was being dealt.

“I’m sorry I didn’t pick up.”

Lewis scoffed, “Yeah – you, uh – you were busy, I guess?” He nodded his head towards the bruise on Shayne’s face, and his incriminatingly battered knuckles. “What – were you _punishing_ some – some assholes or something? Huh, Shayne?”

“Hey,” Shayne hushed. With a glance at their momentarily clear surroundings, he warned Lewis, “Keep your voice down.”

Lewis rolled his eyes and tried to circle around Shayne yet again. Like clockwork, Shayne interrupted him, this time putting a hand on his shoulder. Lewis recoiled, wrenching Shayne’s hand free in a defensive motion. He spun on his heel to square himself towards Shayne, as if ready to fight.

“Jesus, Lewis – relax.”

“Don’t touch me,” Lewis snarled like a cornered animal.

Shayne raised his hands up in a placating gesture, “Okay. Yeah – no touching. Okay.” After releasing a heavy breath, he asked again, “What was that about last night?”

“It was nothing.”

“Seven missed calls aren’t nothing, Lewis – and don’t say it was a fucking butt-dial either.” Shayne gestured towards Lewis as he added, “Just talk to me, man. I’m sorry I couldn’t help you last night, but I’m here now.”

“I don’t need you now.” Lewis’ tone was firm. He was squaring his jaw and puffing his chest out in that habit of his whenever he needed to look big. Shayne could tell it was his way of covering up all the anxious ticks.

“Were you in some kind of trouble? Your dad told me you didn’t come home last night.”

That earned a tick from Lewis’ stiff jaw. The corner of his eye twitched once as he gave Shayne a sardonic smile, “You talked to my dad?”

“He called me. He’s worried about you, man,” Shayne explained.

Another scoff, and Lewis waved him off. “Don’t talk to my dad.”

The absurdity earned a perplexed laugh from Shayne, “Or what, Lewis? You’re saying I can’t talk to the people that care about you? The people that are worried about you?” Shayne risked taking a step closer, “I’m worried about you, Lewis. I don’t want you to do anything you’ll regret.”

“Like what, Shayne? What – you think I – that I’m,” Lewis stammered, “What – gonna hurt myself or something? Hurt someone else? Is that what you think of me? You think that – think I’m fucking crazy or something? You know, I thought – I – that’s what made you and Damien different – you didn’t think I was crazy.”

“No,” Shayne kept his tone firm but neutral as best as he could, “I’m not saying you’re crazy. That’s not what I’m saying. What I’m saying is I think you’re in a tough spot and you need help – you need people who care about you. You need to remember we’re here and we want to help you, Lewis.”

“Like you helped me last night?”

Shayne blew out a defeated sigh. “I’m sorry-”

“I don’t want to hear it,” Lewis brushed him off and began to walk to his backyard yet again. Shayne didn’t stop him this time. He trailed after Lewis but quickly halted when Lewis turned back to face him. “If I tell you what happened, will you leave me alone?”

“No promises.”

Lewis’ mouth quirked into a sneer for a second. “I was in a bad place. Mentally. I needed someone to talk to. I got over it. I’m okay now. The end. Goodbye.”

Shayne reached out once more as Lewis presented him with his back. The reaction was once again violent. He spun around with force and shrugged Shayne’s hand off. Lewis raised a threatening finger as he growled, “I told you not to fucking touch me! Go away! I don’t want to see you here again!”

“Okay – shit, Lewis. Okay.” Shayne raised his hands once more and took a few precautionary steps back. This was an uphill battle that he was steadily losing. “Just-”

“I don’t want to hear another fucking word, asshole!” Lewis was trembling with anger. “You’re on my property and you are now trespassing. If you don’t leave, I _will_ use force,” To prove his point, Lewis’ hand settled towards his lower back. Shayne cursed himself for not noticing it sooner. He’d gotten so caught up with Lewis’ various ticks and cues, he didn’t spot the pistol tucked into his waistband.

“Okay,” Shayne nodded. He kept his hands up while he took cautious steps in reverse. He didn’t dare give Lewis his back while he was this off-kilter. “Easy – I’m going.”

Lewis watched Shayne like a furious hawk all the way until he backed up onto the sidewalk. When Lewis still didn’t take his hand off the concealed gun, Shayne conceded. He got into his car and started up the engine. Lewis didn’t turn away until Shayne’s car disappeared around the bend in the road.

As soon as he was clear, Shayne pulled over. It was a hazardous stop that would’ve gotten him rear-ended if anyone was following him. It was a good thing he was in the suburbs, or he would’ve been ticketed.

Shayne rammed his fist into the steering wheel yet again, splitting open his healing wounds. He let out a sharp hiss as the sudden movement tugged at his stitches. There was no telling what Lewis was hiding. While it was believable that he’d been in a bad spot, it was obviously a half truth.

He crashed his fist back into the wheel again for several more strikes to release the frustration as he yelled, “Fuck!”

All the effort they’d put in to befriend Lewis and keep him in check – it was all undone. All because Shayne couldn’t resist getting his hands wet to help some other people. This was all his fucking fault.

If Shayne didn’t do something about this soon, he feared Lewis was going to take that gun to his own head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading 'til the end here! Your patience for enduring my angst is rewarded with a drama-free kiss, and you guessed it, more drama! My first draft didn't include it, but after a lot of thought, I wound up writing it in. I felt it was a nice release to the tension while still prolonging Shayne's need to heal and get his act together - but at least now Courtney is reassured of his intentions. Next chapters are in the works and I can't wait to share them with you all. The brakes of this train are once again very much disabled, and we're in for a bumpy ride. Stay tuned to see if Courtney and Shayne make it to After in one piece. I'll catch you guys at the next update. Have a great day ahead!


	35. The Brink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shayne confides in Courtney. Damien is brought up to speed, and he and Shayne make a begrudging house visit. Courtney receives a letter.

Shayne was back in Courtney’s apartment. It wasn’t even noon and he already wanted to crawl into bed and hide his shame under the covers. Courtney wasn’t having any of that. Instead, she sat Shayne down on the sofa to clean the reopened wounds on his knuckles. Courtney accepted his sheepish apology for ruining her handiwork with an eyeroll and a dismissive wave. “It’s my fault for expecting you to go twenty-four hours without ripping something open,” Courtney had said.

As Courtney worked on Shayne’s hands, he explained how his encounter with Lewis had gone.

Terribly.

Max sensed Shayne’s dour mood and sat on his other side. He rubbed his face against Shayne’s torso to get his attention. Once Shayne obliged, Max half-crawled onto his lap and licked at his face. Shayne fondly scratched at the dog’s head with his free hand while Courtney cleaned the last few cuts on his other hand.

“Should’ve kept my nose clean,” Shayne grumbled, “Shouldn’t have intervened. It’s my fault Lewis hates my guts now.”

“Hey, that’s not on you,” Courtney chastised his self-blame. “You dropped everything to help a bunch of kidnapped people, Shayne. I don’t think anyone can rightfully blame you for missing their calls”

“Rightfully,” Shayne repeated, “That’s the thing. Lewis is in a bad way. Doesn’t matter what I was doing last night – why I couldn’t charge my phone and answer his calls. Even if I told him I was putting human traffickers in the ground, I’m sure he’d still want to kick my ass.”

Max let out a little whine, prompting Shayne to pet him even more. With a sigh, he asked, “What do I do, Max?”

Max gave a yip and a soft bark.

Shayne turned his head to Courtney, who watched him with a tender smile. “Max says I should’ve become a lumberjack in Montana.”

Courtney rolled her eyes but grinned at him just the same. “Nice little cabin in the mountains and everything?”

“Hm,” Shayne hummed. He could envision the cozy wooden walls and the crackling fireplace. The crisp smell of pine trees and the moist dew in the morning. “No human traffickers in the mountains.”

“Think you would’ve had room for one more up there?”

The coy look Courtney gave him had his heart do a little flip. Shayne did what he did best. He covered up the emotion by quipping, “Oh yeah, the cabin would totally fit Max too.”

Shayne nearly laughed at Courtney’s unimpressed gaze. Instead, he let out a hiss of pain when she slapped on the last band-aid a little too tightly. He watched as Courtney stood up to dispose of her gloves and wash her hands. Shayne called after her as she went, “Thanks again, Court.”

“What would you do without me, Shayne?”

“I feel like the nurses at the ER would poke my stitches less. Probably put my band-aids on with less of a vendetta too.”

“Yeah?” Courtney spared him a displeased glance over her shoulder from the sink. “I should start charging you for my services. I hope you have insurance.”

“I used to.” Shayne paused. It occurred to him for the first time that Bradley Russo hadn’t taken up a private healthcare plan yet. Damien could probably help him out with that.

Courtney toweled off her hands and looked his way. “Make sure you get a plan that covers getting stabbed by Russian kidnappers.”

“Or vets with PTSD who’ve gone off the rails,” Shayne muttered.

Courtney plopped down next to Shayne. Her arm stretched out onto the backrest, hand playing with his hair. Max was content to just lie on Shayne’s lap while he brooded.

“What can we do about it?” Courtney asked.

The word _we_ stood out to Shayne. It was a small thing, but he would always appreciate Courtney’s commitment and companionship. His lighthouse through the storm never let him down. With Courtney, he was never alone when things got difficult.

He was exceedingly grateful in that moment of how they were okay again. After seeing Lewis, he appreciated their relationship’s stability all the more. True to their words, and his promise, it was like their little bump in the road never happened. Neither of them had tried to steal another kiss in the morning, as tempting as it may have been. Shayne was lucky Courtney didn’t push the matter. He thought his heart would have given out on the spot last night from the fear and panic he’d felt

Courtney’s thumb brushed against the base of his skull before it continued fiddling with his hair. The little movement brought his attention back to the question at hand, and Courtney’s sympathetic smile.

“He’s gotta feel like he isn’t alone. That there are people who care and that he can reach out to. But the problem is he’s pushing away whoever’s left. I doubt he’d go back to O’Connor now. His dad’s out of town for the week, but Lewis isn’t talking to him either. After today,” Shayne blew out a frustrated sigh, “I don’t think he’d care much for Damien either.”

The guilt was gnawing at him. He’d felt terrible enough showing up late to dinner. The unease in his gut was doubled when he saw those missed calls and whatever they may have been about. The fact that it was still a mystery was the worst part. It was like fighting an unseen enemy that was landing shots left and right. Except even _that_ was easier. Pop some smoke grenades and Shayne could get his men clear. They could locate and engage the threat from there. Shayne didn’t have the slightest idea how to piece together what had really happened last night.

“I should’ve held on better,” Shayne rubbed his tired face, “Kept him close when he needed it. Checked in more often.”

Shayne was silent for a beat as the dread and anxiety swirled within him. Courtney took that time to tuck her legs underneath her and scoot a little closer. “Thinking about all the should’ve-s won’t change the past. Can I offer a bit of advice in problem solving?”

“Please.”

“My boss, Ian, he always says if you’re hitting your head against a wall and not going anywhere, you need to get a new perspective. Change up your angle and look at it differently. It helps if you take a break from the problem and come back to it later,” Courtney explained, “It can be tough to step back from the problem. But sometimes it’s your best bet to figuring something out.”

Shayne gave her a downcast smile. “I have no idea how to take my mind off-”

Courtney cut him off with a question, “You wanna move in?”

Shayne’s brows nearly reached his hairline at the sharp turn Courtney took. It was certainly one way to take his mind off Lewis.

“Court, we,” Shayne released a nervous laugh, “We just talked about it last night – I – I’m not – y’know,” Another laugh, “I need a bit more time than that.”

He wasn’t sure what made Courtney grin so widely, but it somehow defused the unease and fear that had bubbled up. Her hand settled on his chest, fingers toying with the buttons of his flannel. “I know. But…” There was that coy look again that made his heart turn. “Can you honestly tell me the month we spent together wasn’t…” She bit her lip to choose her words, “Nice?”

The utterly simplistic wording Courtney had chosen earned a quick laugh from Shayne. _Nice_ didn’t even begin to describe how lovely the month had been. He felt happy and whole with Courtney by his side, occasional nitpick and all. But a permanent move was a huge commitment just the same.

“It was more than nice,” Shayne admitted. His hand eased onto Courtney’s knee right next to his lap. Fingers stroked her skin in familiar, idle motions. “But moving in for good is a big thing, Court. Not to mention I’ve got like half a year left on my lease.”

Courtney leaned in a fraction as she suggested, “Meet me in the middle?”

“What do you have in mind?”

“Stay over more often,” Those lovely green eyes avoided Shayne for a moment. It was a shifty little mannerism that betrayed her façade of cool. “I can clear out a drawer to give you some space to keep clothes.”

It was a step forward, but a small one. It was far less daunting than uprooting from his own apartment, which he’d grown rather fond of as well. More time spent with Courtney was something he’d never say no to either. So, Shayne figured – why not? His heart may have been picking up in pace at the thought. But it was nowhere near as ready to burst out of his chest as it had been last night when he came clean to Courtney.

“Will you try to do the dishes more often?”

Courtney broke into a wide smile as she let out a quiet huff. She did her best to frown at him, but there was no biting down that beautiful smile. “Will you stop clicking your stupid pen?”

Shayne pursed his lips for a while before he nodded, “I could work on it.”

“I suppose I could too.”

“Sounds like we’re in agreement, Ms. Miller.”

“Are you ready for Living in Sin: Season Two?”

Shayne let out a sharp laugh, startling Max and earning an annoyed snort. The overgrown lap dog crawled over Shayne to Courtney’s side where he could doze off undisturbed. He watched with no shortage of fondness as Courtney lovingly rubbed the dog’s head. There was a surge of affection that swirled in his chest – powerful enough to overcome the fear and anxiety. Because this was Courtney, after all.

So, there was no other answer to her question, other than, “I’m ready, Court.”

* * *

It was days later on Wednesday when Shayne finally met up with Damien. He’d just gotten back the night prior and was still jetlagged, but this couldn’t wait. The morning sun shone through the diner’s windows. Shayne sat on one side of the faux-leather booth seat, with Damien directly across from him.

Courtney and Max had already been dropped off at work, with the promise that they’d grab lunch later. Spending the night with her granted Shayne a little more confidence and mental acuity to discuss the next steps with Damien.

Shayne had already brought him up to speed on the events that had transpired. From his fuck-up on Damien’s wedding night, to bailing Lewis out of the precinct, to dealing with the Russians, to making up with Courtney, and finally to his failure to help Lewis when it mattered.

There were also the attempts Shayne made at reconnecting with Lewis, even if they were all in vain. He dialed up Lewis’ number in an effort to check in, but the calls were unanswered. When Lewis refused to pick up, Shayne swung by his house once more. Some days, Lewis was nowhere to be found. The days he was present, he would put a hand on the pistol tucked into his pants in a clear warning. Shayne didn’t want to press his luck, so he was forced to make himself scarce.

Damien listened to it all with his face buried in his cup of coffee.

“It’s not your fault, dude,” Was one of the first things Damien said when Shayne finished recounting his unsuccessful week so far.

“Feels like it, man.”

“I’m sure it does,” Damien nodded, “But what you’re feeling doesn’t necessarily reflect reality.” A sly smile came over him, and he added, “Just like you being chickenshit when Courtney kissed you – that fear’s gotta feel real for sure. But that’s a misplaced feeling covering up the fact that you’re in love with her.”

The L-bomb nearly had Shayne spitting his coffee out and all over Damien. He was surprised it hadn’t blown him off of the seat entirely.

“I’m not,” Shayne huffed out a defensive scoff, “I don’t – can we just stick to talking about Lewis.”

“Not until you admit you love her.”

“Damien!”

“Okay, okay – Jeez.” Damien took another swig of coffee. He cleared his throat and got back on topic. “So, off the top of your head – why did Lewis drop seven missed calls?”

With a shrug, Shayne suggested, “He got into trouble.”

“Okay, so what sort of trouble could Lewis get into? A fight at Josie’s?”

Lewis may have been a regular at the dive bar, but it was hard to say. Even if the place was packed with hooligans, Lewis specifically went there because people left him alone. He didn’t seem like the type to go instigating something.

“Not sure about that. I doubt it was a run-in with the cops, either. If he got stuck and needed bail again, he would’ve called us or his dad.”

“And not O’Connor, since their last protest went oh-so smoothly,” Damien added.

There was a nervous rumble in Shayne’s gut at the mention of the older man. He voiced his fear aloud, “What if the calls have something to do with O’Connor?”

“Like what?”

The gun tucked into Lewis’ waistband came to mind. With a gulp, Shayne guessed the worst, “What if he killed him?”

Damien’s eyes widened for a second. He leaned back into the booth to give Shayne an incredulous look. “What? Man, c’mon. Lewis isn’t – he’s not a killer.”

Shayne rested his arms on the table to get closer. In a hushed voice, he argued, “I wasn’t either, but look at what those animals did to my family. The goddamn war didn’t give me PTSD, that massacre did. It changed me, like how something changed in Lewis. I’m telling you; he snapped some point between when I bailed him out and when I didn’t pick up his calls.”

With a heavy sigh, Damien shrugged a shoulder, “Okay, let’s dial that back a bit. If he wanted to…” Damien waited for the waitress to walk by before he continued, “If he wanted to kill O’Connor, wouldn’t he have done it the same day you spilled the beans? Then he would’ve called you that day too, not days later on Friday.”

It was a fair point. Shayne thought out loud, “More likely to commit a _crime of passion_ , than a planned murder.” Yet the feeling still nagged at Shayne. There was something off about it all. “Though both Lewis and O’Connor didn’t show up to group.”

“Didn’t the calls come in after?”

The working theory in Shayne’s head was sounding more and more plausible to him by the moment. It made him anxious to the very bones. “Maybe they met up. Lewis showed O’Connor the records. It got heated. Lewis survived the fight and freaked out, tried to call me for help.”

Damien looked like he still wasn’t buying it. Like he didn’t believe Lewis was capable of anything that drastic. Shayne supposed he couldn’t blame him. He wasn’t the one that picked Lewis up from the precinct. He didn’t get yelled at and threatened to be shot if he didn’t walk away. Damien hadn’t witnessed Lewis at his worst just yet.

“What if it wasn’t anything like that?”

Shayne sighed, but motioned for Damien to go on.

“What if he was telling the truth? I may not have told you this before, but this isn’t the first time Lewis didn’t come home. He likes to pull double shifts on his cab – stay up all night and until the morning driving people around. What if he spent all night doing that to clear his head _because_ he was in a bad place? Like – a really bad place,” Damien tilted his head meaningfully, cuing Shayne to make the connection.

“Like he nearly killed himself?” Shayne asked. At Damien’s nod, his stomach dropped even lower. He hadn’t quite considered that. If Lewis was on the brink and tried to reach out to him, and he was unavailable –

“Fuck,” Shayne grumbled. “It’s… it’s possible. Can’t discount that.” But the earlier idea persisted. If anything, it melded in with the possibility that Lewis had nearly taken his own life. “Dames, think about it. What would drive him to want to do something that extreme? If he killed O’Connor, he would’ve started freaking out, maybe reach out to me, maybe nearly put that gun to his head.”

“Why are you so sure he got violent?” Damien countered, “He gets lots of bad dreams, he doesn’t sleep enough, but he’s never been violent. We’ve never seen that.”

“Dude,” Shayne leaned closer on the table, “You didn’t see him that day. When I tried to stop him from walking away, he _squared up_ like he was ready to fight. He had this wild look in his eyes like it was him against the world – and I know what that feels like.” Shayne’s thumb jerked towards himself as he added in a quiet tone, “That’s how I felt when I woke up in that hospital without Liz, without Nicole.”

Damien appeared to study him for a while, chewing over the idea. To reinforce his stance, Shayne offered, “Why don’t we go pay him a visit then. Hm? Let’s swing by O’Connor’s. If he’s alive, he can tell us to fuck off and that’ll be the end of it. If not,” Shayne shrugged, “We need to turn Lewis in.”

They paused to allow the waitress to set the food down onto the table. With a polite smile, she was on her way, leaving the two locked in their tense stare-off.

“If O’Connor’s fine and dandy, I’ll happily admit I was wrong.”

“Fine. We’ll swing by his place.” Damien scooped up a spoonful of eggs and motioned towards Shayne, “I hope you’re wrong about this.”

With a shake of his head, Shayne muttered in agreement. “Me too, Dames. Me too.”

Neither of them had visited O’Connor before. It took a bit of sleuthing, but they got ahold of his home address. For someone so paranoid of the government and the world at large, it was surprising to find O’Connor’s address on the internet. They had NRA forums and discussion boards to thank for that.

The drive over was tense, similar to the rest of their stay at the diner. Shayne felt responsible, and that made him all the quieter. His best friend had just gotten back from his honeymoon and he managed to ambush the poor guy with this clusterfuck. Worse yet, he was accusing the young veteran Damien had taken under his wing – long before Shayne rejoined society – of murder.

It was times like this that Shayne almost missed Rikers. Mold, leaky pipes, margarine, bloodthirsty inmates, visits from Courtney and Leak and Grossman – at least that was all predictable. There was a semblance of a routine that he could adapt to with few outliers and surprises. Life seemed so much simpler in that hellhole, as miserable as he may have been.

That wasn’t to say that Shayne would trade his freedom for an orange jumpsuit and three square meals a day. But he certainly wouldn’t mind less uncertainty and drama in his life. It was a bright consolation that at least his budding relationship with Courtney had stabilized for the time being.

O’Connor’s house was a rundown excuse for a home, with weeds thick enough to hide a sniper in the garden. The paint was steadily peeling off the outside walls, which were streaked with dirt. The windows were so thick with grime you could hardly see even the most basic silhouette within. As they disembarked from the car, Shayne noticed O’Connor’s own vehicle was absent.

Damien made the same observation, “His car’s gone. Maybe he’s out.”

“Maybe,” Shayne muttered. Damien followed close behind as Shayne led the way over to the front of the house. A screen door and a wooden door right behind it separated the inside of the house from the outside world. Shayne considered knocking for a moment before he found the small doorbell on the side.

Shayne turned to Damien, finger hovering over the button. “Ready?”

“Let’s get this over with.”

With that cue, Shayne lifted the hem of his shirt by a fraction just in case he needed to draw his gun in a hurry. He had to take a deep breath of his own. Shayne sincerely wanted to be wrong. The last thing he wanted was for Lewis to have snapped and murdered someone, even an asshole like O’Connor. The weight of taking a life was a burden that could never sit easily with anyone. That went doubly so when done of one’s own accord and without wearing a flag on your arm.

Before Shayne could press the button, there was a tremble underfoot.

He paused.

“Earthquake?”

No sooner had the words left his mouth when a distant boom resounded throughout the city, followed by another – and then another.

The familiar sounds of explosions kicked up old instincts in both Shayne and Damien. Together, they hit the deck hard, covering their heads and necks. The shockwave rolled through Shayne’s insides in an unpleasant but mild sensation – a good indicator of the distance between them and the blast zone. O’Connor’s filthy windows audibly trembled from the wave of force.

Shayne’s heart violently beat up into his ears as the adrenaline pumped into his system. When no shrapnel or radiating heat came over them, Shayne risked peeking his head out. Away from the suburbs, deep into the city, Shayne could make out three thick plumes of black smoke darkening the morning sky. Distant car alarms and shouting could be made out in the direction of the explosions.

The dread paralyzed Shayne for a few solid moments. Damien’s shallow breaths to his side quickly broke him from the trance. Shayne crawled closer to Damien in rapid movements, checking him for injuries and finding him unharmed. The blow dealt to him was psychological. Damien’s trauma for bombs ran far deeper than Shayne’s fear and hatred of them ever would.

“You’re okay, Dames.” Shayne hooked the man’s arm over his shoulder to help pull him to his feet. “We’re good – we’re safe. We’re clear from the blast.”

“Holy shit, dude,” Damien managed out. His face was pale, and Shayne could feel his limbs shaking as they righted themselves. “I-is this a fucking – what a terrorist attack?”

Before Shayne could answer that, his phone rang. When he was sure Damien was stable on his feet, he dug the phone free from his pocket. Shayne couldn’t take his eyes away from the billowing stacks of smoke in the distance. The dread and fear that twisted his insides morphed into a seething rage – that someone had the audacity to attack this city – _his_ city. And with fucking bombs of all things – the tools of goddamn cowards.

Unless it was –

No. No, it couldn’t be.

He wasn’t capable of doing this.

Shayne ejected the thought from his mind to answer the call.

“Hello?” Shayne’s voice was gruff when he brought the phone up to his ear without checking the caller.

“Shayne? Are you okay?” Courtney’s rattled voice washed another wave of fear over him.

“Shit, Court. Yeah. Yeah, we’re okay. You? Are you safe?”

Shayne felt his heart pause in sync with Courtney’s brief silence over the line.

“Babe, talk to me – are you okay? Do you need me to come over?”

Damien’s own phone began to ring, and Shayne listened as he took Alice’s call. With shuddering breaths, Damien worked on calming himself down. Shayne set his hand on Damien’s back, standing close as he tried to reassure his friend with solid pats.

“I’m safe – I think. Coming over would be nice, yeah.” Courtney answered rather unconvincingly.

“You think? Why? Was one of the explosions near Smosh?”

“No. We got the manifesto, Shayne. The bomber wrote directly to me.”

Shayne’s blood turned to ice in his veins.

* * *

Both Matt from the 15th precinct and several agents from the FBI arrived not long after Ian and Anthony called it in. They’d gone through the manifesto several times now and were in the middle of another rereading.

Two FBI agents were leading the investigation. Three bombs had been detonated, one each in the 10th precinct, the courthouse in the Bronx, and the field office of the ATF. Fourteen people had been killed and dozens more were injured.

The moment Courtney learned a courthouse had been targeted, she rang up Leak and Grossman. With great relief, Courtney was informed that Keith, Noah, and Olivia were all in their office handling consultations at the time.

The two agents were taking turns reading the manuscript aloud. The idea was to go over the letter multiple times to pick up any small cues that could help them in catching the bomber. It would take a while to find the suspect based on his handwriting alone, so they were now collaborating with those gathered here.

Matt was present as the NYPD’s lead on the case to work with the FBI. Ian and Anthony were here since the bomber’s manuscript found its way to Smosh. Courtney was in attendance since the bomber had written specifically to her. The only one missing was Senator Ori, who’d been named as one of the public officials cannibalizing the country and the people’s liberties. The FBI had already dispatched agents to confer with him.

The first man, Agent Rhett, stroked his thick, light brown beard as he paced around Ian’s office. His wild head of hair bounced with each step he took. He continued onto the last page of the manuscript.

“The United States government has become a tyrannical force, using its power to persecute and terrorize teachers and citizens, trying them in a court like criminals for seeking to defend themselves as the Constitution allows. Men like Senator Stan Ori are snakes that claim to have the people’s best interests in heart but wish to take away the very rights our great nation was built upon. He is a crook and a criminal, and redcoats like him will get their dues.”

The other man in charge, Agent Link, knocked his glasses back into place as he accepted the manuscript from Agent Rhett’s gloved hands. With a hand on his hip, he continued.

“They want to take away our guns, our freedom, and then we will be unable to defend ourselves. I have acted in defense of our liberty and our identity. I have acted for all of us to do what is right.”

Agent Link looked up at Courtney, who’d been on the hotseat the past hour already. “Again, Ms. Miller – this is where he addresses you by name.”

Matt was leaning on the door and fiddling with his tie when he added, “This guy sounds like he looked up to Shayne, Court. Anything you can think of would be a big help.”

Courtney licked her dry lips and motioned for the agent to continue reading the manuscript.

“You have championed the common hero before, Ms. Miller. I believe you understand that sometimes a man has to make a stand for what is right, what is true, even if the law stands against him. I ask you in the name of this country we love to print my words as a call to arms.”

Agent Link paused, watching Courtney for any reactions. When it was clear she was none the wiser – as she had been the past four readings – he continued, “If you do not, I will know you are one of them, and you and everyone at Smosh will be on my list. Give me liberty or give me death.”

He handed the manuscript back to Agent Rhett, who then slid it into an evidence bag. In a tone far too casual for her liking, he asked, “What was your relationship like with the late Mr. Topp?”

Courtney wrung her hands together as all eyes fell on her once again. Ian and Anthony watched her just as closely. It was no secret that those two were sometimes mystified by her fixation on getting Shayne’s truth and his story out to the public. While they didn’t disapprove of her writing or her stand, they did wonder why she held on with such conviction they’d never seen before.

With a clearing of her throat, Courtney answered with an honest half-truth, “I befriended him during his trial and got to know his story. Have you read my work?”

Agent Rhett was quick to deal with her deflection. “I have, Ms. Miller. Riveting stuff. Very good. But going back, you say you befriended him?”

“I’m sorry, Agent Rhett, what does my relationship with Shayne Topp have to do with this bomber?” Courtney struggled to keep her tone in check. She was defensive when it came to Shayne and that was something she couldn’t help.

“It’s simple,” Agent Link spoke up, “Depending on how involved you got with Mr. Topp’s network, you may have met this bomber without even realizing it.”

Courtney took a deep breath and centered herself. Again, she told them, “We got close during the trial. I learned about what happened to his family and wanted to make sure the public learned the truth. I didn’t meet anyone from his network aside from Colonel Schoonover and Damien Haas.”

“The colonel is dead. What can you tell us about Mr. Haas?”

“He’s a good man. He was the best friend Shayne could’ve ever asked for.” Courtney quickly added, “He, uh – he was a corpsman with the Navy. Definitely not the type to do something like this.”

The two agents shared a look. Some sort of silent communication appeared to occur, because they exchanged curt nods. Agent Rhett then told her, “We believe you should go ahead and put out that editorial you were talking about.”

Courtney perked up at that. When she first read the manifesto, she was put on edge – shit, she was still on edge and sick down to her gut.

The fact that the bomber thought she would sympathize with his actions made her want to vomit. People were dead – innocent people were dead over some man’s delusional ideas of freedom and liberty. Courtney was appalled. She was disgusted. It was an insult to her as a journalist and a person to be associated with this psychopath. It was clear the bomber had been referring to the articles she published about Shayne and the conspiracy surrounding his family.

That was different. Far, far different.

Shayne didn’t lash out blindly against society and the institutions that governed and protected it. He surgically eliminated the murderers responsible for killing his family. Morally, legally, it was wrong. Courtney had never alluded to approval of his actions whether in her writing or when talking to the man himself. All she did was understand why he’d become what he was. The bloody tragedy that led to him donning that vest and seeking vengeance. But understanding didn’t equate to direct support and approval for his bloody mission.

To combat that deep disgust that she felt, Courtney wanted to publish an editorial reply to the bomber. Her stance, as well as that of Smosh had to be clear as day. There could be no mistaking that they stood firmly against the bomber’s acts of terrorism. Ian and Anthony were fully onboard and wished to double down on her plan. They wanted to talk to her on Smoshcast Live and use their reach to the fullest to spread their message and their stance against the bomber. They’d just been waiting for the FBI’s all clear to push through with their idea.

Ian and Anthony were next to perk up when Agent Link added, “You can get the talk show going later this afternoon too. If we’re lucky, the bomber calls and we can triangulate his location.”

They spent another hour going over all the details while Courtney haphazardly tapped away on her laptop to compose her reply. Her frustration and disgust spilled out onto the keyboard through her fingertips. The words flowed naturally and easily as her sense of righteousness filled up the page. Ian and Anthony brought Sarah in so she could participate in the planning. She was their production manager after all. The FBI needed her help to keep the operation running smoothly.

Agents Rhett and Link went over the preparation that they and Smosh needed to take. The FBI brought in extra equipment to loop in their surveillance teams to the feed and make the job of tracking the bomber easier if he called. They were confident that he would, since terrorists of this type that mailed in handwritten manifestos were very volatile and responsive. His ego would be bruised by Courtney’s reply, and he’d likely try to address her on air. It was then Ian, Anthony, and Courtney’s job to stall him and keep him talking when that inevitably happened. It was paramount to the triangulation. Without enough time, it would be a dead end.

When Courtney’s reply was finished, she gave the draft to the agents in charge. It didn’t take them long to approve it and leave it for her to pass onto her editor for final changes. Courtney had that draft in hand when she finally stepped out of Ian’s office for the first time in hours.

Shayne’s messy head of hair was the first thing she noticed across the room. He sat by her desk with Max at his side and a backpack on the floor. A guest pass was clipped to his shirt. Their eyes met and Courtney found no other course of action but to walk straight towards him. Everyone had glimpsed Bradley Russo already. If no one had recognized him back then, they still wouldn’t now that he was right here.

Shayne stood up to meet her and didn’t hesitate to pull her straight into a tight hug. After the hours of being scrutinized by the FBI and going over the manifesto, Courtney finally felt the tension ease from her body. She buried her face into the comfortable crook of Shayne’s neck. His hands rubbed up and down her back in broad, protective strokes.

“Thanks for coming,” Courtney mumbled against his warm skin.

“It’s nothing, Court.” Shayne pulled back just enough to get a good look at her. Those lovely blue eyes were such a tranquil sight in the current turbulence of the office. FBI personnel were walking back and forth, talking to Smosh staff, or moving equipment over to the recording studio. Smosh was chaotic on a regular day – that was just part of their culture. But today, it was cranked up to eleven.

Shayne’s hand eased up to brush a thumb against her face as he asked, “What did it say?”

Courtney found herself once more in that tiny conference room towards the back of the office. It felt a little ironic having Shayne in here with Max. The first time she’d borrowed the room for some privacy was to discuss Shayne’s file with Olivia. The office was well aware of the bomber’s manifesto and the coming plans, but she preferred to talk to Shayne in private. Not to mention, she needed to get away for a moment. All the hustle and bustle was stressing her out. Courtney needed a breather.

The frown on Shayne’s face grew deeper and deeper as she relayed the contents of the manifesto. Eventually, her recap finished – it was flawless thanks to the five or so times Agents Rhett and Link read it aloud. Shayne was chewing on the bottom of his lip like he was deep in thought. His other anxious ticks were coming back, undoubtedly due to this alarming development in her being directly addressed by the bomber. When his trigger finger wasn’t tapping its erratic rhythm against the table or his jeans, he was sweeping loose strands of hair back into place.

“Any ideas?” Courtney asked him. With how lost Shayne looked in his own mind, there was no telling what stray pieces of information he was connecting – what deductions and assumptions he was trying to make to ID the bomber.

Shayne didn’t answer. Instead, he asked to see her reply to the bomber. It would be published once her editors were through with it. The highlights would also serve as part of their opener for Smoshcast Live. It didn’t surprise Courtney when Shayne’s frown grew even deeper. She’d gone on the offensive and stood up for herself and Smosh. There was no way she was cowering and backing down from that asshole and his bombs.

“Jesus Christ, Court – why are you going after him like this?”

Max raised an anxious whine at the sharp tone Shayne took.

“He chose me, Shayne. He singled me out and expects me to,” Courtney scoffed, “To sympathize with him. Wouldn’t you be pissed off if this guy expected you to agree with his actions? That bombing these innocent men and women will get him what he wants?”

Shayne’s answer was quick, contained in a low growl, “There’s nothing more I hate in this world than a goddamn bomb, Courtney.” That darkness in his eyes was creeping back into view. Courtney could practically see all the carnage he’d witnessed flashing into his mind. There was the slightest pang of guilt for throwing that question at Shayne. A bomb was what took his best friend’s leg. Of course he’d be pissed.

“This guy thinks he can scare people into making them do what he wants. Fuck,” Shayne’s lip curled in disgust. “All this does is bring people together, make them stronger. This asshole’s in for it.”

“Then you know why I can’t back down, Shayne.”

“This puts a target on your back.” Shayne wore his concern plainly on his face, “You want this guy to go after you? This is how you get to the top of his shit list.”

The frustration began to build up yet again. Courtney felt the heat in her chest spreading up to her face as she snapped, “Well what do you expect me to do? Sit around and do nothing? That’s how people like that win.”

Shayne raked a hand through his hair. When his mouth opened and closed with no audible response, it was clear he himself didn’t have an answer. Shayne bit his lip and avoided her gaze. Courtney stepped close to pick his fidgeting hands off the table. She intertwined her fingers with his and pointedly met his shifty eyes.

“This is my job, Shayne. Sometimes it attracts the wrong type of people and that’s just part of it. It’s up to me to stand tall and say _no_. Put him in his place, tell him this isn’t the way to do things. I have to do this.”

Shayne let out a low, long sigh before muttering, “Only reason you attracted this guy is because of me – because you wrote about me.”

“And I’d do it again in a heartbeat,” Courtney answered without a second’s hesitation, “Because telling your story was the right thing to do. Getting attacked in Rikers, ambushed in the precinct, kidnapped by Schoonover – I’d go through all that again if it meant getting the truth out and doing right by you.”

“You scare the shit out of me, Courtney.”

The painfully honest sentiment and the tone that came with it was enough to make her frustration simmer down. Courtney let go of Shayne’s hands to wrap her arms around him. She was mindful of the stitches on his abdomen which still needed a few days of recovery. “I’m gonna be fine. We’ll play it safe, okay? I’ll ask Matt to see about getting police protection until this blows over. How does that sound?”

Shayne still appeared apprehensive and ready to melt with worry, but he was no longer arguing. That was progress enough for her.

“Besides,” Courtney gave him a peck on the cheek, “I’ve got my two strong boys to keep me safe. Isn’t that right, Max?”

Max barked out in reply, earning a chuckle from Shayne. He turned his head to look at her. Courtney wanted nothing more than to kiss all his worry away, but she refrained. She could feel the violent beat of his heart enough as it is. The last thing she needed was to give him a heart attack. She gave him a small reassuring smile as she kept her tight hold on him.

“I’m not gonna let anything happen to you. I promise.” Shayne held her gaze as he made his resolute vow. Courtney believed him. She never had to think twice about the lengths Shayne would go to keep her safe. Courtney was almost scared of how easily he would disregard his own safety for her. Shayne was selfless almost to a fault in that regard. It was one of the things that made Courtney love him even harder.

“You gonna seal that promise like you did last Friday?” Courtney asked with a sly smile. It was partially to break the heavy air. Partially to see if she could get lucky.

Shayne cracked a lopsided smile. Before he could respond, the door cracked open.

“I’m telling you – that guy is-” Ian stopped in his tracks, causing Anthony to bump right into his back. They both stumbled forward, eyes darting back and forth between Shayne and Courtney mid-embrace.

They pulled apart far more awkwardly than necessary. Courtney mentally smacked herself for it. They were acting like teenagers getting caught necking by a teacher. They were goddamn adults – they could do whatever they wanted.

“Are we, uh-” Ian cleared his throat, “Interrupting anything?”

Courtney stood up for her right to hug whoever she wanted without judgment. “Yes.”

Shayne did not.

“No.”

Shayne shrunk underneath Courtney’s glare. Silence hung in the air for another uncomfortable moment, eventually broken by Max snorting in Ian’s direction before padding over to greet Anthony.

“It’s Bradley, right?” Ian asked. Courtney didn’t like how intently he was looking at Shayne.

“Yeah,” Shayne put on a polite smile and extended his hand, “Brad Russo.”

“Ian.”

“Anthony.”

The two shook hands with Shayne, eyes running over his bearded face. Courtney got their attention before they could ogle him any longer. If they ID’d Shayne, things would only get further complicated. As if this bomber wasn’t enough to deal with.

“Brad, do you mind if we borrow Courtney here for a sec?” Anthony asked.

Shayne looked at her for approval.

Courtney gave them a noncommittal shrug. Shayne turned back to the duo as he lifted his backpack up from the floor. Reaching in, he pulled out a wrapped sub sandwich and answered, “I’ll be at her desk.”

Shayne pressed the warm sandwich into Courtney’s hands. With that signature nonchalance of his, he reminded her, “Lunch.”

Courtney internally scolded herself. They’d planned to get lunch today, she’d asked him to come over after she received the manifesto, and she repaid him by making him wait by her desk while she was stuck with the FBI for hours. And despite it all, he still managed to make sure she was fed.

With admiration in her eyes, she watched Shayne slip out the door with Max following close. It was moments like this she felt like she didn’t deserve the kind heart of Shayne Topp.

The lightheartedness didn’t last. As soon as Shayne was out, Anthony locked the door and leaned against it. The suspicion quickly enveloped her.

This room was never used because it was too damn tiny for a meeting. It was only ever opened up to have private discussions with sources or with each other over sensitive matters. You went here so you wouldn’t be overheard. Meaning Ian and Anthony were discussing something tightlipped and needed to talk to her about it.

Courtney set the long sandwich down to cross her arms over her chest. She had an inkling of what was about to be said. She only hoped she was wrong.

Ian confirmed her suspicion. “So, when were you planning on telling us you’re dating The Punisher?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading this chapter! Let me know what you thought of this one! I don't have much to say in the notes today, other than that I'm both anxious and excited as we enter these final chapters. I hope you've all enjoyed the ride so far as we race to the finish. Next chapter is in progress, and I aim to release it in the coming days. I'll catch you guys and gals at the next update. Have a good one!


	36. Snakes and Cowards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Courtney stands up for Shayne, and guests on Smoshcast Live. Shayne meets up with Damien when his suspicions are confirmed.

“If you turn him in, you turn me in.” Courtney put her foot down and looked up defiantly at Ian and Anthony. “He gets put away for a life sentence and I get put away for fifteen years for being an accessory.”

She took a strong step forward and balled her fists at her side. Courtney didn’t let either of them get a word in edgewise, “Is that what you want? You wanna send that poor, tormented man to jail now that he’s trying to live a peaceful life?” Her fiery eyes glowered at the two, “You wanna put me away too for helping him move on and find peace?”

Courtney dug her phone out from her pocket and slammed it down on the table with a heavy hand. “Siri, call Leak and Grossman.”

With a blip, the phone rang up her avocados-at-law.

“W-wait – Court, what’re you doing?” Ian raised his hands in a placating gesture.

“I’m calling my lawyers – Shayne’s lawyers. Because I’m not saying anything else about us without my legal counsel present.”

“Courtney, slow down,” Anthony took a step closer but stopped when faced with Courtney’s fierce frown.

The perky voice of Leak and Grossman’s new paralegal answered the call. “Good Afternoon, you’ve reached Leak and Grossman, attorneys-at-law. This is Kimmy speaking; how may I help you?”

“Hi Kimmy, this is Courtney, are my boys in?”

“Court,” Ian hissed, “This is unnecessary.”

“Hey Courtney, it’s nice to hear from you. Noah just finished a consultation. Would you like to speak with him?”

Courtney levelled Ian and Anthony with her steely glare. They were both pink in the face now and were tensely motioning for her to end the call. Any plans they appeared to have were stopped in their tracks.

“Hello? Courtney?” Kimmy called out.

Ian spoke in a sharp whisper to avoid Kimmy overhearing, “Court, we’re not turning you in!”

Courtney looked over at Anthony and found him nodding in agreement. She held their gazes for another moment, trying to find any sign and semblance of dishonesty. When she found none, she answered Kimmy, “Hey, I just wanted you to ask him if we’re still on for lunch this weekend. I gotta go – Kimmy, could you text me back?”

“Sure thing, Courtney. Will do.”

“Thanks so much, buh-bye now.”

Courtney hit the red end call button and crossed her arms once more. With the call aborted, Ian and Anthony released tense sighs. They exchanged looks, and Ian motioned to Anthony, as if telling him to take the lead.

“Courtney, first off, I think we owe you an apology for making you think that we,” Anthony glanced at Ian, “That we wanted to turn you and your boy Topp in.”

“What’s going on then?” Courtney asked, a little more sharply than she intended. Truth be told, she was jittery. The fire that rose up in defense of Shayne had covered up her fried nerves. She surprised herself at how ready she’d been to go down with him if worse came to worst. Now that Ian and Anthony apparently weren’t about to screw them over, the anger was gone. Now she was just nervous, both at what they intended to say, and at how she just snapped at her two friends and bosses.

Being personally called out by a mad bomber tended to make you easy to agitate.

“We just wanted an explanation, Courtney. I – no, we,” Ian gestured to Anthony, “Have been with you since the start of this thing. We supported your investigation into Shayne, his family, his life, the conspiracy – we were never against you about all that.”

Now that her brief flash of anger was over, a tinge of guilt was making itself known. Ian was right. The two had her back since the very beginning once they were convinced. They wanted her to expose the truth and never tried to stop her. Hell, they had her back even way before that – back when she emptied her gun into her stalker’s chest. It was thanks to them and their network that the story never made it online or in print.

“I may be due to switch out my glasses again, but these eyes don’t lie, Court.” Ian pushed his glasses into proper alignment as he spoke, “I made _Brad_ out after getting a couple of looks at him sitting at your desk.”

Anthony chimed in then, “I saw the resemblance, but I wasn’t sure. We were about to talk it over in here and wanted to call you in about it, but,” He let out a laugh in the form of a short huff, “Well, here we are now.”

“I think we’ve seen his pictures more than most people. So underneath the whole hipster thing he’s rocking,” Ian shrugged, “We can recognize him better than the rest of our people.” He quickly added, “Not to mention, after we gave you Dr. Tepper’s address, you were awfully evasive. We never got a straight answer out of you about what happened over there, just that it was a dead end.”

Courtney rubbed her face for a moment to grant herself a brief reprieve. “Okay, yeah. The disguise isn’t bulletproof. Stuff went down that night at Dr. Tepper’s. What now?”

“The secret’s safe with us, Court.” Anthony reassured her. It allowed her wildly beating heart to calm by just a tad bit. “We know his tragedy and his story by heart now. As long as he’s done punishing, we leave this alone and keep his survival under wraps.”

“But we want the truth, Courtney. We need to know the story so we can defend Smosh if he somehow gets caught and we’re accused of harboring him.” Ian gave a dry smile, “After all, it’s no secret that we, as Smosh, stood up for him.”

“Need to lay down some ground rules too,” Anthony added, “If he becomes a regular sight here, he’s bound to get recognized by more people.”

Having no other course of action, Courtney agreed. She came clean about that night at Dr. Tepper’s when she found Shayne standing very incriminatingly in the middle of the bullet-riddled house. She told them about Schoonover, and how she’d nearly been executed and buried in the woods if not for Shayne’s timely distraction. She revealed (albeit in less detail) how she tried to convince Shayne to back down but failed.

Courtney didn’t get into the particulars of their months apart. Though Courtney wasn’t surprised when Ian and Anthony mentioned that they were suspicious of the postcards she’d been receiving. They were more suspicious still of the spring in her step that she’d gained months ago, and the mysterious blonde hipster that dropped her off at work.

She kept Leak and Grossman’s involvement out of it, just in case. If Ian and Anthony wanted to pull that thread, then they had to talk to the lawyers themselves. Courtney filled them in on how much Matt knew as well. It was vital to keep their story straight and prevent them from accidentally mentioning anything they weren’t supposed to.

Once the truth was laid bare and Ian and Anthony were satisfied, they gave her their conditions – which weren’t really much at all. Simply that Shayne couldn’t stay for long or come into the office and studio with any degree of frequency or regularity. While her two bosses would hold their tongues, they couldn’t say the same for Smosh as a whole. There was a minority of individuals who didn’t particularly care for Shayne’s vigilantism. If rubbed the wrong way, they may err on the side of reporting Shayne to the authorities rather than turning a blind eye.

In the end, all tensions between the three of them had been eased. They were all on the same page now and Shayne’s identity was safe for the time being. Courtney gnawed on her now cold sandwich as they all filed out of the tiny conference room. Ian and Anthony waved casually at Shayne as they made their way back to Ian’s office to confer with Agents Rhett and Link.

Shayne was keeping his head down and trying not to look conspicuous as he finished up his own sandwich. Thankfully, no one was paying him a second glance. Her coworkers, who were usually eager to ogle her hot not-boyfriend, were preoccupied. The FBI agents roaming the space were similarly too busy interacting with Smosh’s staff to pay his shaggy head of hair any notice. Matt, the other person likely to ID Shayne behind the beard, was still in Ian’s office. He was wrapped up in the ongoing investigation. Max was sitting by Shayne’s feet, looking up at him pleadingly for scraps. Despite his best puppy dog eyes and pitiful whines, Shayne was steadfast.

Courtney took that time to hand the draft over to her editor for final corrections. They were due to go live soon. Courtney was keen on having everything in order by then. They talked it over for some time. Once Courtney was satisfied, she left her trusty editor to it and returned to the main office. Through the shutters of Ian’s office, she could see them still discussing the next steps. Seeing that she wasn’t currently needed, Courtney returned to Shayne.

As Courtney approached, Shayne stood up to offer her the seat. She happily plopped down and continued munching on the last of her sub. Max shifted his puppy eyes over to her in the hopes of getting a bite. Courtney stuck her tongue out at the dog, who whined in protest.

Shayne watched their exchange with a small smile. When she got the chance to swallow a mouthful of her meatball marinara, Shayne caught her eye. He tilted his head in the direction of the small conference room and asked, “Everything okay?”

There were far too many people to be talking about anything remotely related to his true identity. “Yeah. I’ll fill you in later. For now, I gotta scarf this thing down.”

Shayne leaned on her desk as she ate. They shared a companionable silence for a while. Courtney focused on eating, while Shayne shuffled in place as he fiddled with his phone. He was viewing the different news reports covering the attacks, frowning as he did.

Not long after Courtney finished her sandwich, the office doors opened up. She wasn’t sure who she expected to see, but it certainly wasn’t Senator Stan Ori in the flesh. He wore a sharp black suit with a bright blue tie. His dark hair was neatly combed and parted. He had an easy smile on his rounded features, as if trying to convey an image of tranquility under pressure. Flanking him on either side were two more suited FBI agents.

Courtney watched with dumbfounded eyes as the senator strode in. Ian and Anthony stepped up to greet the politician with polite smiles.

“Came as soon as I could,” Senator Ori beamed.

“It’ll be great to have you on the stream, senator.” Ian began leading their small group towards his office.

Anthony stood on the senator’s other side as he chimed in, “We’re happy to hear about the fundraiser tomorrow too. Hope it goes well.”

“Oh!” The senator turned his enthusiastic smile to Anthony – a little too bright and eager considering this was a fundraiser for the victims of a terrorist attack. “I almost forgot. I want Smosh to join in covering the event tomorrow.”

Ian and Anthony glanced at one another before nodding in agreement. Ian opened the door to allow them into his office with the rest of the team. “We’d love to bring a crew over to handle it.”

Courtney caught Ian’s eyes as she crumpled up the sandwich’s wrapper. He tapped his watch and jerked his thumb in the direction of his office. That was her cue to haul ass.

She disposed of her trash and gave Shayne a squeeze on the shoulder. “If I have to listen to the agents read the bomber’s letter again, I’m going to lose it.”

“Hang in there.” Shayne’s hand brushed a comforting stroke against hers. “It’ll all be over before you know it.”

The meeting in Ian’s office drew out for an extended period of time. As expected, they went over the manifesto again, but Senator Ori was as clueless as them over who the bomber may be. He reminded them that there was no shortage of people who disliked him. His staunch gun control policies stepped on lots of people’s toes.

Courtney was trying to get a read on the senator throughout the meeting. She found him far too insincere for her liking. Naïve, even. He also had this air about him like he thought he was untouchable. The FBI agents made it clear the bomber was likely to call in response to Courtney’s editorial. Senator Ori appeared as though he didn’t believe it.

Nevertheless, once the preparations were out of the way, they filed out of the office and made their way to the recording studio. Ian and Anthony sat on one side of the table, while Courtney joined Senator Ori on the other. The microphones and cameras were already in place and ready to go. Zach the intern handed off water bottles before making himself scarce. Beyond the viewing window, Sarah stood with Agents Rhett and Link. The two men appeared to be communicating with others through their earpieces. Eventually, they nodded at Sarah, who gave Ian the go signal.

“Good afternoon,” Ian began with a decidedly serious tone. It was a stark contrast to his usually goofy openings. “I am your co-host, Ian Hecox. Joining me today is fellow co-host, Anthony Padilla,”

“Hey,” Anthony spoke into the mic.

“And our guests, Courtney Miller,”

“Thanks for having us, Ian.”

“And New York state representative Senator Stan Ori – a vocal and staunch proponent for tougher gun control laws. Is that fair to say, senator?”

“Pleasure to be here, Ian. And yes, it certainly is fair.”

With a nod, Ian got straight to business. “In light of the tragic bombings that occurred mere hours ago, today’s Smoshcast Live will take a… different approach. The person responsible for these sickening attacks sent a letter addressed personally to our dear journalist Courtney Miller.”

Anthony leaned on the table as he took over, “The bomber wrote a manifesto explaining his actions. As we speak now, the letter can be viewed on our website, along with Courtney’s editorial reply. Ian is going to read the highlights from the manifesto, and Courtney will be voicing the summary of her own reply.”

“These are the bombers own words. They haven’t been censored or altered.” Ian cleared his throat and began reading the highlights of the letter.

The senator wore an almost practiced frown on his face as Ian and Anthony took turns reading through the paragraphs. Senator Ori knew how to act in front of the camera, Courtney had to give him that. He sighed in disappointment and shook his head with disapproval, timing it all perfectly with the bomber’s rambling manifesto.

Courtney wrung her hands together in a combination of anxiety and frustration as Ian spoke. She tried to reread the summary of her reply – to focus on that instead of the rumbling anger in her chest that was building back up. The seething disgust she had at being personally named in the letter was palpable. Courtney only hoped the FBI would find the bomber soon and make short work of him.

“…give me liberty or give me death.” Ian concluded.

“Courtney,” Anthony nodded at her, “Would you like to give your reply?”

As Ian set the copy of the bomber’s writing down, he and Anthony focused on Courtney. Senator Ori tilted his head towards her and waited. Beyond the viewing glass of the dim recording studio, Agents Rhett and Link stood by Sarah. All eyes were on her. It was time to take a stand against the bomber.

“This bomber is intent on spreading fear,” Courtney took a breath and faced the camera angled towards her. “But I’m not scared. This city will pull together like it has so many times before. Smosh may have published his words and recounted the key points, but we’ve also sent his letter to the FBI. This is because we have faith and belief in the institutions that the bomber seeks to destroy.”

“Those who communicate using violence must not be tolerated,” Courtney’s heart pounded in her chest as she leaned in towards the mic. “This man is not a patriot. He is a coward. He is a terrorist.”

“I, and the rest of my colleagues at Smosh, are disgusted by his violent attacks on our city. We stand firmly opposed to his actions and his radical ideas. He claims to have written to me personally because I once stood by and championed a _common hero_ , referring to the late Shayne Topp, the man branded by the public as The Punisher.”

“Neither I nor Smosh condoned Shayne Topp’s brutal attacks on the gangs involved with his family’s demise.” Courtney’s voice was firm and resolute. The momentum was on now and it was getting easier to speak into the mic. “We never agreed with his methods, but we understood and sympathized with his reasons. We brought to light the truth behind what turned Shayne Topp into The Punisher.”

“Anyone that met or knew Shayne Topp personally would know he never saw himself as a hero,” Courtney said, “He would stand firmly against the bomber’s attacks. He wouldn’t want his name to be dragged through the mud by a terrorist who thought he was doing this country a service."

“We do not, and will not ever condone such acts of senseless violence by cowards like this bomber. New York City will remember this, and the innocent men and women who lost their lives in these tragic attacks. The bomber’s days are numbered, and justice will prevail. When it does, he will go down in history as a terrorist who sought to instill fear in this city and failed. We will get through this, and we will win.”

Courtney allowed the silence to hang in the air. She took that moment to lean into her chair and take a swig from the water bottle provided to her. Ian gave Sarah beyond the viewing glass a thumbs up. When she returned it, Ian began with a more casual flair.

“Damn, Court. You’re really swinging for the fences with this guy, huh?”

“Coward, terrorist – these are quite the – uh,” Anthony chuckled, “These are hard, definitive hits you’re dealing.” He stuck to their opening outline as he asked, “Do you have any sympathy whatsoever for his point of view?”

“No. None,” Courtney answered easily.

Senator Ori chimed in, “The irony of the bomber’s outlook is frankly terrifying.”

“You’re referring to the idea that,” Ian paused as he rested his arms on the table, face close to the mic. “That he is using violence to defend the second amendment?”

“Spot on,” Senator Ori nodded. He turned to look at the camera as he added, “We have a killer in our midst. He is committing murders to protest against the efforts we are taking to reduce the murder rate in this country.”

Courtney had to remind herself that they were live and on camera. It was what stopped her from rolling her eyes into the back of her head.

“Well, that’s…” Ian appeared to blink back his perplexed frown, “That’s your takeaway, senator – being the anti-gun guy, and all. Something tells me this guy isn’t necessarily _against_ lowering murder rates.”

They should have expected the senator to push his platform on their show. He was here because he was personally named alongside Courtney – albeit for completely different reasons. The stream was supposed to be about the bomber as well as the victims – not the senator’s political agenda.

The senator shrugged as if it were obvious as he said, “Less guns, less death. It’s that simple.”

Neither Ian nor Anthony were registered firearm owners. They never put more than a dozen rounds downrange the one or two times Courtney took them along just to show them what it was like. But that didn’t put them on the senator’s side with the stricter measures he was trying to impose on the city. Both men were intelligent and critical of complex, sensitive issues such as this.

It was why Anthony didn’t hesitate to point out, “This guy was using bombs, senator – not guns.”

Ian chimed in before the senator could respond. With a cheeky smile, he said, “Maybe some local hero with a handgun nails this guy.” Ever the devil’s advocate, Ian went on, “You could even argue that the right to nail this guy with a gun is part of the foundation that America was built upon.”

“Really?” Ori scoffed at the notion. “Ian, that was almost three hundred years ago.” He unexpectedly turned his head towards Courtney, as if looking for backup. “Ms. Miller, wouldn’t you agree that, in this day and age, no ordinary citizen needs to carry a gun?”

Courtney turned towards the camera and blinked vacantly. A part of her was tempted to draw the .380 from her bag and set it on the table, but she refrained. She wasn’t sure what it was about her appearance that implied she wasn’t the type to pack heat. Courtney tried not to take it personally.

With a sigh, Courtney turned to Senator Ori. She answered his question with a question of her own. She didn’t miss Ian and Anthony fighting back their amused smiles. They knew how much the senator was barking up the wrong tree.

“Senator Ori, have you ever been scared?” The glint of steel in the darkness of her apartment came to mind.

“Just… genuinely afraid for your life – or the lives of others,” She could see Shayne’s unconscious form being pummeled into the visitation room flooring.

“A moment that – where it came down to you or someone else.” She could hear the deafening blast of her shotgun in the confines of the 15th precinct’s armory.

“In a situation where a gun and the willingness to use it…”

_Get that thing out of my face. You’re not gonna shoot –_

Courtney could feel the hot brass ejecting onto her hand in the close quarters of Schoonover’s pickup truck.

“That’s the only thing standing between you living or dying.”

Senator Ori looked at Courtney for a moment. His dark brown eyes went to her hand, which patted her bag meaningfully. When it was clear she wasn’t on his side in this blatant attempt at pushing his platform, the senator turned back to Ian and Anthony.

“Guns are a toxin in our society – in the wrong hands, they wreak havoc. It’s barely been a year since this city was terrorized by The Punisher.”

Courtney was leaning into the mic automatically to fire back, “You know – that’s hardly the same thing at all. Shayne Topp killed murderers, drug dealers, human traffickers, not these – not regular men and women just doing their job.”

“But where do you draw the line, Ms. Miller?” Senator Ori was now glancing at the two co-hosts. Unfortunately for him, they were content to watch the exchange unfold. “The Punisher decided he was above the law and was tried for killing fifty-six people.”

“The trial which,” Courtney pointedly reminded him with a frown, “Was nearly won by the defense on the grounds of Shayne Topp’s Extreme Emotional Disturbance. Shayne Topp was not a terrorist. He was a war hero and a family man who had everything taken away from him.”

When the senator didn’t have a reply hot on his tongue, Ian contemplated aloud, “Topp was a hero to easily over half this city, especially when the truth started coming out.”

“Not to mention,” Anthony added, “He led the defense against the attack on the precinct in our very own Hell’s Kitchen.”

“An attack with the purpose of capturing Topp,” Senator Ori replied, “The only reason those officers were in danger was _because_ of Topp.”

Before Courtney could snap once more in defense of Shayne, Ian pressed a hand to the side of his headphones. His eyes went to the viewing window, where Sarah could be seen speaking directly to Ian. Agents Rhett and Link were gesturing sharply to the other agents gathered, likely giving instructions to get the trace going.

“Wait – I’m gonna have to put this little debate on hold. We just got a caller.” Ian’s expression was serious now. He looked between Courtney and the senator as he told them, “The bomber is on the line.”

Courtney took in a deep breath of air. Senator Ori paled, looking decidedly worse than her. As if he hadn’t expected the bomber to _actually_ call.

The little shit really did just want to take advantage of their platform to push his stance. The bombings, the fundraiser tomorrow – they were all little conveniences for him to give weight and heft to his views – to boost his ratings in the upcoming elections. The bomber may be far off-kilter and delusional about many things, but he was right about Senator Ori. The guy was a snake.

“Things are about to get interesting,” Anthony offered a reassuring smile. “We ready?”

Courtney had already read her pissy response to the bomber out loud. She’d be damned if she weren’t willing to face him for the words she’d said and printed. Courtney wasn’t spineless enough to retreat now that she was being confronted for her strong stance.

“Yeah.” Courtney put on a brave face to mask the underlying anxiety.

The senator cleared his throat and nodded. He kept his head a fair distance away from the microphone.

Ian leaned in towards his own mic as he got back on track. “So, dear listeners and viewers, we have the man claiming to be the bomber on the phone.” He looked past the cameras and towards Sarah, who gave the thumbs up.

Addressing the man directly now, Ian asked, “Can we get a name?”

A ragged sigh over the end of the line sent a wave of unease rolling through Courtney.

“My name is not important. Only my actions.”

Anthony was quick to engage the bomber, “You’re talking to New York and,” He shrugged, “The world, really. What do you wanna say?”

“Why did you say those things about me, Courtney?”

Courtney’s breath hitched in her throat.

This was all part of the plan. They expected this. The FBI was tracing the call at that very moment and this would all be over soon.

She leaned into the microphone once more. There was no room for fear or hesitation. With steel and conviction in her voice, Courtney answered him, “Because I despise everything you’ve done. Because I’m disgusted you thought I would agree with your senseless murders.”

There was that disconcerting sound over the line once more – like a wounded animal’s rough breaths as it tried to pull itself together. Then anger filled the bomber’s voice as he shot back, “The government – people like Senator Ori are cannibalizing this country. Shipping our jobs overseas, selling us out, and then taking our guns away so we can’t do anything about it.”

Courtney’s harsh scoff came out before she could temper it. “You’re a coward. Those people that you killed weren’t policymakers. They were secretaries, janitors, beat cops, office clerks – regular people!” She had to unclench her jaw to ask, “Tell me – how does that help your cause?”

When the bomber was silent for a beat, she reeled in the aggression by a fraction. They needed to keep him on the line so the FBI could finish the trace. “Look, maybe the government did something awful to you. I don’t know your story.”

Courtney thought of Shayne. All the blood on his hands, but none of it belonging to any halfway decent person. The government and the justice system failed Shayne in the worst way imaginable and he never turned to indiscriminate slaughter. It was with that in mind when she continued, “Awful things happen to people every day – but you know what? They don’t _murder_ innocent people because of it.”

The bomber took a deep breath over the phone. “You’re just a pawn,” He spat, “Like the rest of them. And Senator Ori? What a joke.” The bomber scoffed. The senator, who was as quiet as a mouse, turned even paler. “You don’t represent anyone but yourself. This war is just beginning, and you are all on the wrong side of it.”

“War – you call this a war?” Courtney’s hackles were up as she snapped in question. “Tell us – are you planning on hurting more innocent people?”

Courtney wasn’t given a response. The bomber let out a rough grunt before growling over the line.

“Sic semper tyrannis.”

* * *

Shayne didn’t want to believe it.

When that first explosion rocked the city, there was that nagging voice in the back of his head. That inkling he was all too familiar with. Whenever he ignored it, things went wrong. A part of him didn’t like the spot he and Billy were taking cover by before that mortar went off. It cost Billy his life. There was that feeling that something was wrong that day in Central Park – that he needed to get his family far away from there before it was too late. Ignoring that feeling cost him everything.

Hours ago, when they were right at O’Connor’s doorstep – there it was.

That feeling that said Lewis was behind this.

Shayne shut that shit down. It was impossible. No way Lewis was capable of all that damage. He couldn’t possibly be that far gone – radicalized and stripped of his basic morals. Murdering O’Connor – if he even did, since they weren’t able to verify it – was one thing. That was a single person, probably killed in the heat of the moment. But to meticulously plan the delivery of multiple bombs to three public institutions was a whole different level. There was no other word for it – it was terrorism.

Damien was already calling Shayne’s phone, interrupting the live feed he had watching the stream. Courtney was in safe hands in the recording studio, surrounded by the FBI agents. With that in mind, he slipped out of the building, leaving Max with Zach, the office intern. Shayne stood outside, clear of the door where he could get a little privacy.

He was greeted by Damien’s frazzled voice on the other end of the line.

“You heard that, right?”

“Yeah.” There was no mistaking that Latin one-liner and ragged, unhinged voice. “Yeah, I did.”

“Shayne, what the fuck are we gonna do about this?”

He’d given it some thought by then. In the hours he waited for Courtney to be freed from the FBI’s grilling, Shayne had time to dwell and ruminate on the situation at hand. He’d already thought of the worst-case scenario in which Lewis was the bomber.

“Call it in, Dames. We gotta loop the FBI in on this.”

“But – Shayne, we can’t. They’ll kill him.” Ever the corpsman, Damien worried for Lewis. Shayne wanted to believe Lewis wasn’t beyond help, but the mound of smoldering bodies was starting to tell him otherwise.

“I know, bud. But what’s the alternative?” Shayne asked.

“We try to – you know, we find him before it’s too late.”

Through the cool demeanor Shayne had tried to maintain up until this point, his anger flared – compounded by his fear. “Too late,” Shayne scoffed, “It’s already too late, Damien – fourteen people are _dead_. It’s too late for them and now,” Shayne took a breath, “Now he’s saying this shit about Courtney, and I will not let anything happen to her – you got that?”

“Shayne,” Damien’s tone was a mixture of scolding and pacifying, “I understand you’re worried about Courtney. But this is Lewis. We can’t just let them blow his doors in and shoot him because they think he’s reaching for a weapon or something”

“Dames, if I could, I would kick that little shit’s teeth in and drag him over to the feds myself – alive. But that’s easier said than done, isn’t it?” Shayne ran a nervous hand through is messy hair before adding, “I need to be with Courtney. I need to keep her safe. I can’t go out on a wild goose chase looking for Lewis and hoping we stumble into him.”

Damien was silent over the line. Because of that, Shayne could hear the sharp sound of a magazine being loaded with fresh rounds. It prompted Shayne to add, “We can’t go full vigilante on this shit, Dames. We both have too much to lose. This isn’t like last year.” Shayne licked his lips for a pause, “I got someone to come home to this time. I’m not risking my neck on a manhunt, especially not when she’s on his shit list.”

The heft of a pistol being set down on wooden table could be heard. With a sigh, Damien pleaded, “Will you at least stakeout the Wilson house with me? If Lewis shows before the FBI arrives, we make a citizen’s arrest.”

“If he doesn’t?”

Shayne listened to Damien’s audible gulp as he answered, “We wait until the FBI kicks the door down and see if they bring him out in cuffs or in a body bag. If he’s not there,” Shayne could picture Damien’s shrug. “Then he’s still at large and still a threat. But at least the FBI will be on his trail. I guess I just… I wanna be there when it happens.”

Shayne looked up at Smosh’s office and studio. He had a feeling Courtney would be bogged down with questions and red tape for the next few hours. Surrounded by federal agents packing heat, she was safe. He could take that time to make himself scarce and meetup with Damien. It was probably for the better, too. Shayne was getting antsy being around so many feds who could potentially ID him and ruin the freedom he’d been enjoying.

“Call in the tip once the stream is over. Keep it anonymous – so you don’t get stuck with the FBI’s goon squad and their repetitive questions.” With a glance at his watch, Shayne added, “I’ll pick you up in a bit.”

Shayne returned to the office to bid Courtney goodbye for now. He sat back down on his perch by Courtney’s desk. Max padded his way over to say hello, and Shayne welcomed the excuse to keep his head down and out of sight. The show went on for a while longer as they got back on topic. The sleazy senator had been quieted down by Lewis’ call. He’d lost the initiative and stopped pushing his platform from there. It gave Ian and Anthony the reigns to steer the talk as they intended.

There was a growing pit of concern in his gut – as if he didn’t have enough fucking anxious pits in his stomach – over the discussion of the fundraiser. It was increasingly clear that Smosh would cover the event. They’d overheard that already when Senator Ori first entered the office. The development now though was that the senator wanted to continue the interview tomorrow. He seemed keen on trying to reclaim the ground he lost against Courtney, but the plans weren’t definitive just yet.

Eventually, the doors leading to the studio opened up. The two lead agents in charge were speaking with Courtney, her bosses, Detective Raub, and Senator Ori as they walked into the office. From where Shayne sat, he could overhear their conversation.

“…from Central Park. He wasn’t on the line long enough for us to get an exact location. But even if we did, he probably expected the trace, which is why he was out there and not,” The agent with the shaggy head of brown hair shrugged, “Home – or wherever it is he makes his bombs.”

The second agent with the glasses piped up, “We do have some more questions to ask you though.”

Courtney glanced over at Shayne’s direction before she replied, “Could you give me a sec? We can continue this in Ian’s office.”

“Of course, Ms. Miller.”

Ian led the agents, Anthony, Senator Ori, and Detective Raub, into his office. Courtney took the time to split off and walk over to Shayne, who stood to meet her.

“Hey,” Courtney flashed an uncertain smile. Her hands came to run up and down his arms as if to ease some of his tension. Shayne realized his face was locked with a steely frown when Courtney asked, “You’re gonna chew me out for riling up the bomber, aren’t you?”

Shayne couldn’t. All the fire and brimstone had turned into pulse-racing worry in his veins. All he wanted was for her to be safe. But he also owed it to Damien and to Lewis to be nearby when the FBI kicked his door in.

“No,” Shayne answered, “You did good.” He pulled her in for a hug. His skin tingled with heat when Courtney placed a quick kiss to his neck. Shayne brought his hand up to run through those gorgeous blonde locks that he loved so damn much.

He couldn’t let the moment carry on for too long. Damien would be calling the anonymous tip line soon. Shayne didn’t have time to drag Courtney back to that cramped and dusty conference room. He whispered in her ear, “Court, it’s Lewis. He’s the bomber.”

Predictably, Courtney pulled back from his embrace to look at him. Her well-groomed brows were pitched together in surprise. Those soulful green eyes were scanning his face. It’s like she was waiting for the punchline – for him to say it was all a goddamn joke. When it became obvious that wasn’t the case, Courtney kept her voice low as she asked, “You’re sure?”

“Yeah, we’re sure. How long do you think you’re gonna be holed up here?” Shayne asked.

Courtney’s lips pulled into a thin, uncertain line. She looked over her shoulder to Ian’s office, where the shutters were now obscuring the view within. “Might be a while. These guys are being really thorough. Why?”

“Damien’s gonna leave an anonymous tip to point the FBI towards Lewis. You’ve never heard about him before – got it?”

Courtney had to blink once or twice to let the information and his directive settle in. “Yeah – okay. So, this means you – you’re not going after him, right? We’re doing this the right way? Letting the feds and Matt handle this?”

“Yeah. But…” Shayne found himself mirroring Courtney’s frown as he continued, “Dames and I are gonna wait outside Lewis’ house. If we can nab him before the FBI shows, Damien is gonna turn him in. If not,” Shayne’s lips twitched with a sad smile, “We wanna be there if they take him out.”

Shayne could only guess what Courtney was thinking in that moment. The worry and concern were plain as day on her face. Whenever she wore that look, Shayne always felt like it was a bit of a throwback. To the times he wore orange, ate margarine, and put inmates in the ground day in day out. Back when being her _roommate_ was a distant dream. He’d been tempted to kiss those worries away back then. He was tempted all the more now that he’d actually experienced it on two different occasions.

That fear was clawing at his insides yet again. He’d done his best to reel it in – but fucking hell – Lewis was unhinged, making bombs, and now had Courtney on his list. That night Shayne kissed her, the prospect of losing her was powerful, yet far away – distant. It wasn’t a pressing and tangible concern. Now, not even a week later, there was a present and concrete threat to her life, and Shayne had never been so scared shitless in his life. Mike’s chokehold in Rikers came close, but Shayne’s connection to Courtney had grown tenfold since then.

This primal fear welling up within him was incomparable. When Shayne lost his family, there was no time for any semblance of fear to set in. Shit just hit the fan faster than he could process it. There was that anxious voice in the back of his head – that inkling that something was wrong. It was all he felt before they were torn asunder by the firepower unleashed in Central Park. Heartache and loss were all he felt then. If he’d had time to worry and to fear, Shayne knew the intensity would’ve matched what he felt for Courtney in this moment.

Shayne cupped Courtney’s face in his hands and met her eyes. “I’ll pick you up when you’re finished here and I’m not letting you out of my sight. You call me if you need me to come earlier, okay? I will come for you, Courtney. I promise.”

Courtney was biting her lip again. Always with the lip biting. Shayne brushed his thumb against the corner of her lip as he chided her, “Hey – quit it.”

It earned a soft laugh from Courtney as she broke into a beautiful smile. He’d protect that smile at all costs.

“Okay, _Brad._ ” Courtney’s eyes shifted to the side, where her coworkers were snapping pictures of their tender moment. “Don’t let me keep you. You stay safe.”

“You too, Court.” Shayne pressed a kiss to her cheek. He ignored the heat of his own face as Courtney’s friends whispered among themselves conspiratorially.

Shayne made his exit with an affectionate pat on Max’s head. He slipped out to return to his car and was soon on the way to his first stop: his apartment. It took longer than he anticipated. Some roads were closed to make way for emergency vehicles. The fires caused by Lewis’ bombs had been defused, but there were still rescue operations underway. People were trapped under the wreckage of some of the blasts. Shayne gripped the steering wheel all the harder as he passed by an ambulance speeding its way towards Metro-General. He avoided smashing his fist into the wheel in frustration. His knuckles had mostly healed over from the fight last Friday, but he wasn’t taking any chances.

Once Shayne arrived, he moved as if on autopilot. He prepared three duffel bags and laid them out on his bed. The first was stuffed with the police scanner he’d stolen late last year. It could tune in to any of the tactical frequencies used by the NYPD. The second was packed with weapons – a rifle, a shotgun, a handheld taser, two pistols, and enough ammunition to get through an extensive firefight. It was the last thing Shayne wanted to be caught up in, but it paid to be prepared.

The third bag Shayne felt almost stupid for bringing along. He didn’t have any rope on hand – if they needed to tie Lewis up – but he did have a zipline kit he’d taken from Schoonover’s armory that could be repurposed. He didn’t know what acrobatics or theatrical escapes he’d need to perform today. But if he had to perform them, at least he was ready.

Finally, Shayne pulled out the black plate carrier vest that Damien had gifted him last year. The haunting white skull’s dark eye sockets glared up at him. The depths of their murderous gaze stirred something from deep within Shayne. That predatory instinct that had lied dormant for months.

When Shayne dispatched the human traffickers days ago, he was sloppy. Careless. Unlike the ruthless hunter that had punished the gangs involved in his family’s demise. It was almost like he was an amateur in his craft. As if he hadn’t exterminated more deadly threats before.

Shayne wasn’t superstitious.

But he swore the essence of The Punisher lived in this vest.

Shayne would never pretend that he and The Punisher were two separate entities. But that wasn’t to say it had gotten easy to compartmentalize. To forget about his bloody past for a few peaceful minutes at a time – largely due to Courtney’s presence and unconditional affection.

Holding the battle-worn bulletproof vest was a grim reminder of who he was. Of all he’d been through to get to where he was now. Of everything that was at stake.

It was with a heavy heart that Shayne strapped the vest on. The weight of the Kevlar and the ballistic plates didn’t carry that same comfort that it used to. No protective aura that Shayne could take refuge in. All he felt was the responsibility bearing down on him.

To keep Courtney safe. No matter the cost.

Just as heavy was the crushing weight of his failure. It was because of him that Lewis was radicalized and stepped off the deep end. It was his fault that Lewis turned to wanton murder to achieve his goals.

Shayne shrugged on the familiar black hooded coat to conceal the vest. There was no telling if he would even need the vest, or the assortment of firearms he was packing. Best case scenario, they needed none of them.

But Shayne wasn’t taking any chances.

His eyes fell onto the framed photos by his bedside. Nicole, Liz, and himself in front of the carousel with carefree smiles. It all felt like a whole world away. The last time he donned this vest was to make their killers pay. And now…

Shayne looked at the second picture. He and Courtney were dressed up to the nines, and she was pressing that big kiss to his cheek while he was looking like an idiot.

Now he was wearing it to protect the one person that made him believe he deserved his _after_.

Shayne was out the door before he could dwell any longer. He stashed the duffel bags in the backseat where they could easily be accessed. The drive once again took longer than usual, and it didn’t help Shayne’s nerves. Every second they delayed was another second Lewis was out there doing God knows what – preparing more bombs, planning his next attack – there was no telling, and it was driving Shayne up the fucking wall. If he was devising a strategy to eliminate Courtney –

Shaye let out a sharp exhale and made it a point to loosen his grip on the steering wheel. Thankfully, Damien’s house was coming into view now. The man in question was already waiting outside. He had a jacket zipped up, likely to conspicuously hide his own vest. Damien dumped his bag into the seats at the back before he climbed into the passenger seat. He proudly presented Shayne with two to-go coffees. Shayne thumped Damien on the chest and back to check for the ballistic inserts of his vest. Satisfied with the heavy thud underneath his fist, Shayne hit the road.

On the drive to the Wilson Residence, Damien confirmed that the FBI got hold of his call. It coincided with Courtney’s text that came in while he was driving.

**Courtney:** The agents got the tip. They’re looking into Lewis and potential connections and known associates.

Everything was in place. They were doing this the right way. If they happened to get to Lewis first and perform a citizen’s arrest, then it was _still_ the right way. Shayne would be ecstatic if they could get through this whole mess without firing a gun.

Upon their arrival, all was quiet. No police cruisers or personnel carriers were forming a perimeter around the house. Not even sketchy utility vans or taco trucks were hanging around the curb. The FBI had yet to make their move. As for Lewis, his cab was absent, as was his father’s car.

The air was rather tense with anticipation as Damien helped Shayne setup the police scanner. It was a bulky thing that rested nearly turned on its side, leaning against the handbrake. Haphazard setup aside, it was working. Amidst the drone of static, they could hear miscellaneous reports being called in. A robbery down in Queens. An apprehended pickpocket up in the Bronx. The device had good range.

Little was said between the two of them. They took that time to double and triple check their weapons and armor. Damien gave Shayne a thump of his own to check the plates in his vest. Shayne loaded the shotgun and made sure a shell was ready to fire before he returned it to the backseat. Damien loaded multiple magazines for the rifle, while Shayne did the same for their handguns. With press checks to all the loaded guns in the car, they were finally satisfied with their work.

The shadows of the afternoon grew long as the evening began to creep in. The temperature was dropping, which was a small blessing. It made their thick outer layers look less out of place hiding their vests. They were still mostly silent, both embroiled in their respective thoughts.

Shayne tried not to dwell. He focused on studying the façade of the Wilson Residence. His sharp eyes were trained for this sort of thing, even if he was months out of practice. There were no signs of present activity or movement. If he had to guess, Lewis hadn’t been back home in a couple of days. It was the smart thing to do. Staying on the move was the best way to avoid capture or discovery. It was how Shayne evaded police detection and kept his survival a secret during his hunt.

It was Damien who eventually broke the stillness of the car.

“Should’ve been there,” Damien muttered like he was simply thinking aloud. “At least if you weren’t able to pick up the phone, I could’ve helped him.”

Shayne felt the guilt as deeply as Damien did. This whole debacle could have been avoided if he’d just kept his nose clean. If he hadn’t gone after those damn Russian traffickers, Lewis wouldn’t have turned into this crazed bomber.

“I can’t stop thinking about those missed calls,” Shayne admitted. He had no power to absolve Damien of his guilt. All he could do was share in it, and hope that eased his friend’s burden, even by a little bit. “Seven calls, y’know?” Shayne’s lips hung open for a moment as his thoughts raced. As he thought of the panic and turmoil Lewis must’ve been feeling in that moment. Back when he went through whatever it was that pushed him over the edge. “Can you imagine how he must’ve felt? I promised I’d help him through anything, and I broke that trust.”

A heavy silence hung in the air for a few seconds, broken only by the occasional crackle of the police scanner. Shayne watched Damien as he stared out the window towards the house. He fiddled with the lid of his coffee cup with anxious hands.

“It was just months ago he puked on my shirt.”

The tangential reply caused Shayne to huff out a laugh. It quickly turned bitter in his mouth. Damien had a sad smile of his own as he recounted the memory.

“Simpler times,” Shayne mused. He sipped from his cup before adding, “Those were good nights, huh?”

“Drinking the swill at Josie’s?” Damien quirked a brow, “Each time we were there, it’s like we were asking to get sent to the hospital. I’m surprised the mold in her pipes hasn’t come alive to consume us all.”

Humor and tragedy really were the strangest bedfellows. Shayne grinned and clarified his earlier statement, “Okay, Josie’s health code violations aside – we had a good time with Lewis. You think he enjoyed as much as we did?”

Damien appeared to consider it for a thoughtful moment. “I think he did – or at least, I like to think he did.”

“He had good laughs with us when he wasn’t throwing up on you.”

Damien’s smile was short-lived. That sad frown soon found its way back to his features. “We messed up, dude. We were just a distraction back then. Delaying the inevitable.”

“Dames…”

“It’s true. We should’ve gotten him professional help. There was only so much we could do at group. Going out for drinks was a band-aid solution.” Damien heaved a frustrated sigh, “We should’ve known better.”

“Yeah.” Shayne said quietly, “I guess so.”

There had been so many times Shayne found himself watching Lewis. Whether at group, or at Josie’s, Shayne saw through the young vet. Lewis could puff out his chest and square his jaw all he wanted. The anxious mannerisms that he was riddled by always made themselves known.

A part of him always felt glad whenever Lewis was with them at group or out getting drinks – Shayne deluded himself with the idea that Lewis was on the road to recovery. That these actions they were taking were good and would help set him straight.

But Damien was right. It was all delaying the inevitable.

Shayne saw more of himself in Lewis than he liked to admit. He’d gotten a little deep talking to Clay, but that was because it was all coming right from his tormented and tragedy-scarred heart. It was because of Courtney that Shayne was able to fight his way out of all that darkness. He came back to New York and locked that vest away for her. He could’ve easily continued on as a vigilante, hunting down murderers and other vile criminals. It was Courtney’s belief in him and his _after_ that put a stop to that idea.

Lewis didn’t have a Courtney. Shayne and Damien may have tried to be that for Lewis, but they never got in deep enough. They couldn’t truly influence or change the way Lewis’ head was wired.

Or rather – they failed to set his mind down a different path. They distracted him from O’Connor’s radical rhetoric instead of combatting it directly to ensure he didn’t go down that road the moment their support was cut off.

“That asshole O’Connor surely wasn’t doing Lewis’ psyche any favors though,” Shayne reminded Damien. They certainly felt the weight of the guilt on themselves. But it was absurd to pretend that O’Connor didn’t have a hand in Lewis’ downfall.

“No arguments from me there.” Damien continued to stare out the window. “Is the FBI gonna check O’Connor out?”

“They should,” Shayne muttered over the rim of his coffee. “He’ll come up as a known associate because of their whole protesting thing at the courthouse last week.”

“What if O’Connor’s an accomplice?” Damien suggested.

“Nah,” Shayne shook his head. “If he didn’t have the guts to sign up during the war, he wouldn’t have the guts to go mad bomber right alongside Lewis.”

Damien hummed in contemplation. “If Lewis did take O’Connor out, he might be using that house as a base of operations.”

“FBI and NYPD will kick his shit in and that’ll be the end of that.”

Evening was already well underway and there was still no action. The police scanner was buzzing with activity, but not directly related to the crisis at hand. The closest they got was the report of a bomb discovered and defused over at the Veterans Affair’s office. Apparently, Lewis’ fourth bomb was a dud and failed to detonate. The silence must have been making Damien stir-crazy, because he threw out another idea, “What if we stakeout O’Connor’s place?”

“Dames,” Shayne sighed. “It’s getting late. I wanna get back to Courtney so she doesn’t have to go home alone. She can take care of herself but,” He blew out a breath, “I need to be by her side. The FBI can handle O’Connor.”

Damien refused to look at Shayne, likely to avoid glowering at him.

Shayne could understand the frustration – he really did. He felt just as responsible for this mess as Damien did. Especially considering Damien was out of town when Shayne let things fall apart. But his loyalties lied with Courtney. If he had to choose, he would choose Courtney in a heartbeat. If Lewis dared lay a hand on her, he was as good as dead.

Damien proved his maturity when he took a deep breath and clapped Shayne on the shoulder. “Sorry, bud. I get it.” He gave Damien’s hand a rough, but friendly pat as he continued, “Can I borrow the scanner though? I’ll keep my ear to the ground.”

“Yeah,” Shayne nodded, “Just don’t get caught with that thing. My lawyers are good, but possession of stuff stolen from the NYPD isn’t a good look.”

Damien looked at the very bulky police scanner lying skewed between them. “I’m gonna need to borrow the bag too.”

Shayne laughed, “Yeah, the totally inconspicuous bulky duffel bag.”

“Knowing my luck, someone’ll think _I’m_ the bomber.” Damien chuckled along.

Shayne wound up voicing the thought that had been nagging at his head. “Hey, how did Lewis do all this anyway? He was infantry, wasn’t he?”

“I think his unit was attached to EOD.”

It was true that having experience with an EOD unit gave you some knowledge of explosives. Hell, Shayne could set up some C4 plastic explosives no problem. He’d learned the bare basics in the Marines, and his field training with EOD added to that knowledge. Purposefully detonating improvised explosive devices with smaller charges was a regular occurrence out in the field. But they didn’t teach you how to make bombs. Just to rig small explosives or disarm them.

The bombs that went off weren’t military-grade explosives. They were homemade and dirty.

“Don’t they dispose of the explosive ordnance in EOD?” Shayne turned his perplexed face to Damien. “I mean – it’s in the name. Disposal. Not like… Make.”

Damien heaved his shoulders with a big shrug, “If I had to guess, he combined the knowhow he has with stuff he learned on the deep web. Doesn’t take a genius to put together an IED with fertilizer and screws or ball bearings.”

There was an understandable bitterness to Damien’s voice as he spoke.

Bombs were the fucking worst.

Before Shayne could respond, the police scanner crackled to life once more. They could tell this was it because of the cacophony of radio chatter that cropped up. Shayne turned the knobs to focus down on one particular frequency. Multiple elements were reporting their locations as they approached a target building. The radio chatter had the candor and casualness of teams that sounded used to communicating with one another. They hardly adhered to strict radio protocol.

Further up and down the street, Shayne spotted the transport vehicles. He could tell because they were painfully nondescript and clashed with the suburban setting around them. Soon enough, two SWAT teams disembarked from the vans and began to make their way towards the Wilson Residence. Police cruisers were pulling up as well and establishing a perimeter around the block.

Despite the darkness, Shayne could make out the markings on their uniforms. Surprisingly, it was an NYPD SWAT team. The discovery caused Shayne to squint at the police cars in the distance. He could just make out the form of one of the two FBI agents in charge.

When Shayne pointed it out to Damien, he guessed, “Looks like the feds aren’t spearheading this. They’re just guiding the cops.”

“You think that’s a good thing or a bad thing?”

“If they catch Lewis alive and he’s pissed at you enough to blow your cover…” Damien paused to allow the idea to sink in. It made the unease rumble in Shayne’s gut all the more. “At least you got fans and sympathizers in the NYPD. If the feds catch wind of your survival, you’re in for a tough time.”

There wasn’t much more time to contemplate the matter. They were tuned in to the NYPD’s tactical frequency now and things were about to kickoff. From where they were parked, they could see the team decked out in all black tactical gear stacking up at the front door.

_“Alpha team in position.”_

_“Bravo in position.”_

Shayne recognized the voice of Detective Raub calling in, _“I want a clean sweep. Take Wilson alive if you can, but if he’s armed and fighting – you know what to do.”_

One of the FBI agents from Smosh added, _“Remember, this guy’s a bombmaker. Watch where you step. If it looks out of place it_ is _a bomb. Don’t push your luck.”_

_“Roger, sir.”_

_“Roger that, sir.”_

In the distance, Shayne could see the detective exchange nods with the agent.

_“You’re cleared hot. Go, go, go!”_

_“Alpha breaching!”_

_“Bravo team breaching!”_

Shayne felt almost a tinge of nostalgia watching the Alpha team smash the front door lock in with a sledgehammer. Bravo was likely doing the same in the rear. It reminded him of the house clearings he frequently participated in alongside his platoon. Back when he was still a grunt at the frontlines.

There was a tense silence that followed the initial breach. Shayne and Damien glanced at one another when the quiet drew on for a few seconds longer. The first few seconds that followed the start of the breach were always the deadliest. That was when the assault team was most vulnerable as they passed through the door, which was a deathtrap. If Lewis had his sights on that door, men were going to get hurt. When no shots lit up the dark house, the next call over the radio brought no surprises.

_“First floor clear! Alpha team proceeding to second floor!”_

_“Bravo moving to basement!”_

The stillness that followed was shorter this time. Shayne could picture the well-armed team hoofing it up and down the stairs.

_“Alpha-1 advancing.”_

_“Alpha-2 taking the side room.”_

They were moving fast. Shayne was growing worried at the speed of their callouts. It was a common saying in the military – slow is smooth, smooth is fast. Just being fast could have deadly consequences. Especially in a potentially booby-trapped house.

_“Small bedroom clear!”_

_“Study clear!”_

There was a loud snap, followed by the urgent voice on the radio declaring, _“Contact!”_

The telltale pop of gunfire caused both Shayne and Damien to flinch. Worse yet, the radio was still on as a steady stream of gunfire erupted. Shayne watched the house with bated breath. The lack of muzzle flashes lighting up the windows meant the firefight was taking place in the basement. This was soon confirmed by the voice of Alpha team.

_“Master bedroom clear! Second floor clear! Moving to basement to support Bravo!”_

The brief flurry of activity died down with a final couple of anticlimactic cracks. The ragged and clearly stressed out voice of Bravo’s point-man eventually called it in. _“Fuck – it was – it was a false alarm.”_

Detective Raub’s voice replied, _“What do you mean a false alarm?”_

The radio crackled with a loud sigh as Bravo’s lead answered, _“There was a pop like a pistol going off. We opened fire in the direction we heard it but it’s – it’s clear. Basement’s clear.”_

_“Bravo, what did you hear?”_ One of the FBI agents pushed for a clear answer.

The lead of Bravo’s assault team could be heard issuing an order to one of his subordinates. Through the crackle of static, Shayne could make out something about pointing a flashlight somewhere. After a beat, he clarified, _“I think it was a small firework or something, sir.”_

“Oh fuck,” Shayne muttered. He turned to Damien, whose eyes were as wide with alarm as his. Before either of them could verbalize their fears, the worst quickly came to reality.

_“Bravo, get out now!”_

The muffled sound of the explosion was what made Shayne’s insides squirm the most. He’d heard dozens of those throughout his career in the Marines. That particular muted boom spoke of a small explosive payload. But what it lacked in fire and rippling force, it made up for in deadly shrapnel.

Shayne lowered the radio’s volume as the pained cries of Bravo team erupted forth. In the distance, several officers were closing in on the house to setup a tighter perimeter now that the operation was a bust. EMTs were approaching as well in anticipation of the wounded. Beat cops that were part of the team started to fan out and contain the potential crowd. Thanks to all the action, faces were beginning to appear out the doors all around the suburb.

Damien was staring ahead in a disconcertingly vacant manner. His breaths were deep and slow to ground himself and keep calm. Shayne tapped him on the arm to get his attention. From neutral and lost, Damien’s face hardened into a tight frown.

“He baited them into setting off an IED.”

There was no speculation or wondering. Damien stated it as a fact.

“Yeah,” Shayne nodded solemnly, “He did.”

“He knew he’d be tracked, and he set a trap for them.” Damien leaned back into the seat’s headrest and blew out a sigh. Shayne had been around Damien enough to understand how he was reacting. He was talking through the disbelief to work through it. To solidify what was real. When he knew what was real, he could tackle the issue head on. Whether it was a battlefield medical assessment or a strategic decision to be made to ensure all the equipment was in place to save lives. With the necessary information, Damien could act.

But Shayne couldn’t let him act alone. Lewis was their responsibility and their fuck-up. They were in this together. The NYPD and the FBI had just proven their ill-preparedness in tackling a well-trained threat like Lewis. Doing this the _right_ way was off the table. There was no way the feds or the police would apprehend Lewis themselves in a day’s time. Shayne and Damien’s best bet would be to start up the search tomorrow after getting some much-needed rest.

“Cops are gonna work overtime to find Lewis and check his associates. We’ll look for him first thing tomorrow,” Shayne said. “But not until I’m sure Courtney’s safe.”

Courtney’s safety was paramount. It was the single thing he would not compromise on. He needed to talk to her about this – of how he’d love to stick to her like glue to keep her safe, but it wasn’t a viable option. It was too passive. What he _needed_ to do was to search for Lewis and turn him in or put him down so he couldn’t hurt Courtney or anyone else.

“She’ll be safe the moment we find Lewis.”

With Lewis’ mad bomber rampage out of the way, they would _all_ be safe. “I hate it when you’re right.”

Damien wore a wry smile on his face as he clapped Shayne on the shoulder, “You should be used to that by now, bud.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Do let me know how you found this chapter! After Ian and Anthony lowkey mentored Courtney through the articles she wrote about Shayne, I figured they of all people would be sympathizers as well. They're now in that exclusive club of people who know our boy is still kicking but won't make a peep about it.
> 
> Another longer one today. I'm getting the feeling that the succeeding chapters might be around this length as well. If you write in, let me know if this is okay with you guys since this chapter is a whooping 11k words. Next chapter is already 80% written and rather lengthy as well. If you're okay with this length, I'll probably avoid splitting it into two chapters so we can keep the action rolling. I'll catch you guys and gals in the next update. Have a good day now!


	37. Make It Mean Something

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emotions run high between Courtney and Shayne. Damien hesitates.

Courtney plopped down onto the passenger seat of Shayne’s car. It took an inordinate amount of energy not to simply pass out then and there. Before Smoshcast Live, Courtney thought the FBI agents were being thorough. Apparently, that was nothing compared to the fine-toothed comb they used to dissect the office once the show was over. Agent Rhett had split off to return to their field office. He could dig up more info about Lewis from there.

Courtney diligently kept her mouth shut about having heard of Lewis before. Meanwhile, Agent Link and his men continued their investigation in Smosh. They rifled through archived letters that Smosh had received throughout the years. He figured it was possible that Lewis wrote to Smosh once before. Courtney doubted it, but it was entirely possible. They got threats of all sorts on a pretty regular basis. Nobody usually bothered to read through them completely. Lewis’ letter today stood out since it arrived at the height of the bombings. The timing was impeccable. Lewis had likely orchestrated the manifesto’s arrival in that manner. It wouldn’t be swept under the rug that way.

She’d also spoken to Matt about extra protection like she’d promised Shayne. The detective explained that most of his men were out on patrol or being led by the FBI. All he could spare was one cruiser to follow their car back to Courtney’s apartment. The two officers within would be in the vicinity for the rest of the night, performing their patrol close by.

After strapping Max into the backseat, Shayne was quiet when he got back behind the wheel. He hadn’t said a word other than _hey_ , when he returned to Smosh. Courtney wasn’t expecting him to be chatty in the office – Matt and the others were still at risk of recognizing him after all – but his silence was ominous.

Shayne was an open book to Courtney. All of his fidgeting told a story. The trigger finger tapping its staccato rhythm against the steering wheel, the hair he kept sweeping into place – even if it wasn’t messy – and of course the shifty blue eyes scanning their surroundings beyond the windshield.

The brake lights up ahead cast a warm red glow on Shayne, contrasting the cool, drizzly evening. It darkened the shadow of the frown on his brow. He was so anxious. Like he was expecting Lewis to smash in their window and execute them without a moment’s notice.

Courtney set a hand onto Shayne’s lap. She rubbed broad, slow strokes against the denim of his jeans. His eyes twitched over towards her. Shayne gave her the approximation of a smile – little more than a small uptick at the corner of his lips.

It was pointless to ask if he was okay – there was no such thing as _being okay_ at a time like this. Instead, Courtney opted to tell him, “We’re gonna be fine, Shayne.”

Shayne’s usually mirthfully lopsided smile took a wry appearance. His words came out in a grumble, “Wish I had your optimism, Court.”

Courtney sighed. If Shayne was feeling this down about the impending threat, she was dreading to hear how he’d react about the game plan tomorrow. She lacked the energy to bring it up just now. So, Courtney busied herself ordering their late dinner. She opted for a small pizza to split between them. Even if neither of them had eaten since lunch, being put on Lewis’ shit list tended to dampen one’s appetite. When Courtney asked Shayne for his choice of toppings, he shrugged.

That in and of itself was so unnervingly uncharacteristic of Shayne. He never failed to get his selection of toppings in, since he wasn’t the biggest fan of her jalapenos and pineapples. Courtney did him a favor and added his usual requests on. She’d memorized his preference in pizza months ago.

At this hour in the evening, the road closures from earlier in the day were mostly over. It allowed New York City’s usual midweek traffic to flow as freely as it could go. With Shayne silent as a mouse behind the wheel, Courtney gave his leg one final squeeze. She withdrew her hand and got cozy in the passenger seat. It was a crawl back to her apartment. She could use the catnap. Courtney allowed herself to doze off for a few minutes at a time, lulled by the soft pitter-patter of raindrops on the windshield.

By the time they arrived, Courtney was equal parts groggy and reenergized. It took a moment to get her bearings and stand straight without swaying over to one side or the other. Shayne waited patiently by her side before they entered her apartment. In the light of the elevator, Courtney got a good look at Shayne. She blinked once or twice as realization set in.

She hadn’t taken particular note of his physical appearance earlier. She was too dead tired for that. But now, it was all clear.

Courtney angled herself to block the elevator security camera’s line of sight to Shayne’s torso. She placed one hand on his chest, and her eyes sternly met his. The unspoken command to be still was received, and Courtney tugged down on his black hooded coat’s zipper unopposed.

The immeasurable darkness of the skull’s eye sockets greeted her.

Courtney suddenly felt lightheaded at the sight of it.

She pulled the zipper back up to hide the vest. Her mouth hung slightly open as she looked at Shayne.

“Why?”

Through the dread that prickled inside of Courtney, it was the only word she could muster. She was vaguely aware she was now glaring at Shayne, but he seemed to be keen on looking anywhere but her. The floor, the control panel, the ceiling, the mirror panels – shit – they were apparently the most interesting goddamn things to Shayne in that moment.

When the elevator doors parted, they gave a sharp ding as they arrived on Courtney’s floor. The shrill sound broke Courtney from her brief inability to form a full sentence.

They were out in the hallway when she asked again in a harsh whisper, “Why are you wearing that vest? You said we’d do this right.”

Shayne’s jaw was firmly set as they walked. The silent treatment bullshit was grating hard on her nerves. This wasn’t something he did, not even when he was upset with her. If Shayne had a problem, he talked about it. That was the whole goddamn foundation of their relationship.

“Damnit, Shayne – talk to me here. Don’t just,” Courtney scoffed, “Don’t leave me in the dark, dude.”

When Shayne’s flighty eyes finally risked a look in her direction, all she saw was the fear dwelling within. Courtney eased up by just a fraction. “We’re in this together.” She fished out the keys to unlock her door, “I’m with you, you’re with me. Doesn’t that still mean something?”

“Of course it does, Court.” Shayne leaned on the doorframe as she undid the locks. He was still frowning, but this time at her words, “That’s not gonna change. It never will.”

As Courtney pushed the door open, she turned back to face Shayne before allowing him entry. Her eyes searched his as she stepped closer. They were as deep as the ocean and as turbulent as a storm. She could feel the anxiety and worry radiating off of him. Her hand came up to his neck, thumb brushing along his beard.

“Then make it mean something, babe. Talk to me.”

Shayne looked considerably lighter when he let out the deepest of sighs. At his nod, Courtney stood to the side and ushered him into her apartment. Max trotted in along with them and took his position by his food bowl. Courtney shut the door and secured the locks in place while Shayne shrugged off his heavy coat.

“Short answer?” Shayne asked rhetorically. He hung his coat over the back of one dining chair then began unstrapping his vest. “It was a precaution.”

Courtney retrieved her gun’s maintenance kit and set it down onto the table. She rolled out the cloth before fishing out her .380 and putting it down. “Long answer?”

Courtney grabbed Max’s bowl and prepared his dinner while Shayne appeared to contemplate his response. Max eagerly chowed down once his bowl was back in place. Courtney washed her hands and returned to the table to take her usual seat.

Shayne lowered the vest down onto his chair, setting it up almost like a second backrest. A very bulletproof backrest. He pulled out his own Glock and sat down. With practiced hands, he ejected the magazine and cleared the chamber. There was some flair to it when he caught the round midair and set it down.

“Show off,” Courtney muttered under her breath as she mimicked his motions, minus the catch.

Shayne cracked a brief, genuine smile before his face reset into hard lines of worry and concern. “I’ll be honest with you, Courtney. I’d love nothing more than to just sit on my ass and keep you close while the FBI handles this.”

Courtney field stripped her .380 in familiar movements. Her eyes split their time watching Shayne and looking at her own handiwork. Shayne apparently didn’t need his eyes to strip and clean his own pistol. His hands were moving of their own accord as he looked at her.

“What happened at Lewis’ house? Agent Link didn’t seem happy when he got Agent Rhett’s call.”

Shayne’s finger slipped over the cleaning rod as he worked on his gun. He was scowling when he answered with a question, “You know what a claymore mine is, Court?”

Courtney had seen her fair share of action movies both with Shayne and before she got to know him. Claymores were small antipersonnel explosives. So, she nodded her head in affirmation.

Shayne picked a tiny spare screw out of her maintenance kit and gently flicked it across the table. It rolled over and bumped Courtney’s hand. She picked it up and held it questioningly. Shayne drove his point home by elaborating further.

“Imagine seven hundred steel balls as big as that screw – flying out at nearly four thousand feet per second.”

Courtney would rather not imagine it.

“Lewis improvised a claymore. Booby trapped his basement and baited the SWAT team into setting it off.” Shayne scrubbed the barrel of his Glock with more force than necessary. His voice was a low growl. “Four men are in the emergency room because of that. One of them is critical.”

“Shit,” Courtney muttered.

Shayne set the parts of his gun down and blew out another sigh. “ _Maybe_ the FBI can track Lewis down – hell, I think with enough time, they _can_. But I doubt they’re going to find him before Lewis finds you.”

“Shayne, we don’t know that I’m at the top of his list right now,” Courtney reasoned, even when the stirring in her gut told her otherwise.

“It’s you and that prick Senator Ori.” Shayne argued, “At first it was just him, but you had to go on air and paint a goddamn target on your back.”

“We already talked about this,” Courtney scoffed, “You know why I did that.”

“Yeah,” Shayne grumbled, voice dripping with annoyance, “You feel good about yourself now? You think this makes keeping you safe any easier?”

It struck a nerve. It was completely unlike the acceptance and understanding Shayne had immediately after Smoshcast Live. The frustration and anger began to bubble back up within Courtney.

Courtney put her disassembled .380 down to give Shayne a steely glare. He tilted his head back in defiance and narrowed his eyes at her.

“You wanna go after him, is that it?” Courtney asked with a sharp bite to her tone.

“I want to keep you safe – that’s what I want.”

“Keep me safe? So, you – you’re putting on that fucking vest and risking your neck to find him?” The words tumbled out of Courtney’s mouth as the heat gathered once more in her chest.

“You’re goddamn right I am.” Shayne’s dark eyes were tightened with a simmering anger.

Courtney crossed her arms. “I’m not a fucking _child_ , Shayne. I can take care of myself.”

Shayne bit his lip for a moment. She could see the thoughts racing in his head in all the tiny anxious cues and ticks. The tiniest spasm by his nose. The way he had to hold his trigger finger to keep it from trembling. The dilation of his pupils as they studied her face. Shayne began in an even, if not agitated tone, “I know that. Court, you’re brave – you’re strong. But this guy’s different, okay?”

With a hefty breath, Shayne added “He’s Damien and I’s responsibility.” His eyes betrayed the pain he felt. “We both failed him, and now we need to make it right.”

“Make it right?” Courtney repeated in an exasperated scoff. Just _hours_ ago they were talking about _right_ and letting the feds handle this. “By hunting him down like you did with the gangs? What if he fights back – are you gonna kill him?”

“Courtney-” Shayne started, but she didn’t let him continue.

“No – you said you were done, Shayne,” Courtney ignored the volume of her voice, rising along with her hot emotions, “You told me you didn’t want to go back to that. You promised me you were done fighting! You said that, Shayne! You said that!”

“Courtney,” Shayne cut in. “This is different.”

“You said the same thing about the kidnappers!” Courtney snapped, “Isn’t that just an excuse now for you to put that vest on and get your hands dirty? It’s different,” She repeated with a disgruntled scoff, “You told me you’d sit this out and let the feds handle it.”

“They can’t handle it, Courtney!” Shayne shot back. “They can’t even sweep a fucking bomber’s house without falling for his traps!”

“Well now they know better!” Courtney argued, “They’ll have a bomb squad go in with them or something!”

“Yeah – and then Lewis just leads them on a wild goose chase,” Shayne shook his head with an incensed frown, “Makes them triple check every room and waste their time – get him _all_ the time he needs to come after you.” His jaw clenched for a moment. “I have to do this. I can’t let him hurt anyone else.”

“If you just keep taking the law into your own hands, that doesn’t make you any better than him!”

Courtney regretted the words as soon as they slipped out.

She pressed the back of her knuckles against her lips to silence her stupid mouth. Her wide eyes fell on Shayne. All the fight had seeped out of him like a deflated balloon. The hurt in his eyes was plain as day, even as he avoided her gaze.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

After spending half her time on the show defending Shayne and reminding everyone that he wasn’t a terrorist, this was what she managed to say to the man himself. Courtney silently cursed at herself. Her damned hot temper and loose mouth would be the end of her.

The corner of his eye twitched once as he asked her, “You really think that? That I’m like him?”

“No,” Courtney stood up and rounded the table to reach Shayne. “No. God, no.”

Courtney crouched down to get to Shayne’s level. She wrapped her arms around one of his, but he was unresponsive. Shayne was as still as a board, hardened eyes fixed on the table. She leaned forward to press her lips to his shoulder. Courtney stayed there for a beat, mustering up the courage as her insides squirmed.

“Baby, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

Shayne continued staring vacantly ahead, either unmoved or uncaring of her apology.

Courtney had only one real option. It was the only way to undo her fuck-up. And not just the surface-level anger and frustration she had over Shayne’s vigilantism. Far deeper. Down into the fear that dwelled in the most hidden recesses of her heart. That same fear she’d felt when she let him go and deal with Schoonover his way. The underlying dread that would paralyze her if she allowed it to rule her waking mind. It was what she’d felt those long, agonizing months Shayne waged his one-man war against the gangs.

Courtney spilled her guts.

“Shayne, you keep saying that I scare the shit out of you. But you know what?” Courtney let out a laugh that sounded like a sob. “You scare the shit out of me too. I’m not – it’s not _anger_. It’s fear. If you’re afraid of losing me, I’m just as afraid of losing you – fuck – maybe even more. You’re the one living under a fake name after putting a hundred criminals in the ground.”

“You came back to me, Shayne. I didn’t think you would, but you did. And yeah – I was afraid when we started _this_ ,” Courtney vaguely motioned between them. Shayne was looking at her now with forlorn eyes. “But it became easier to deal with, you know? Up until I got to this point where it’s like – yeah, you’re just living a normal life now. No more blood and shooting and,” Courtney scoffed, “Fucking conspiracies.”

“Then there was the wedding and then you showing up on my balcony bleeding half to death.” Courtney gulped down the lump in her throat. “And now I’m scared again, Shayne. Because it was – it’s like a fucking reality check. You’re that same guy. You’re gonna put your life on the line if it means helping someone that really needs it. Whether it’s Lewis or those kidnapped people. And maybe it’s selfish of me – whatever – but I don’t want you to throw your life away for them.”

Courtney cautiously held Shayne’s face with one hand so she could look him in the eye. “Because I want you in my life. I…”

The words stalled in Courtney’s throat. She could almost choke on them.

I love you? I want to be part of your _after_? I want to be your whole goddamn _after,_ and nobody can say anything to change my mind?

Courtney swallowed down the anxiety and the cowardice. She was gonna fucking say it.

“I-”

The chime of her doorbell dashed away the last scraps of courage she’d put together. She nearly expected to sink down to the floor like a limp noodle.

Courtney let out a heavy sigh and stood up. She made to answer the door, but Shayne stopped her with a firm hand on her wrist. Courtney knew the fight was over when Shayne pressed a chaste kiss to her cheek and mumbled in her ear, “I got it, babe.”

She watched him with no shortage of longing as he stepped into the kitchen. He pulled open the second drawer to retrieve one of his stashed guns – a simple tan M17, packing reliable 9mm rounds and an impressive mag capacity. His Glock was still disassembled on the dining table.

Shayne strode on over to the door, performing a swift press check as he walked. He kept most of his body clear of the door and pressed the muzzle of his pistol to the solid wood. Slowly, he reached over to peer through the peephole. The tension eased out of Shayne’s shoulders. He tucked the gun into his concealed carry holster and unlocked the door. Courtney joined Shayne to hand payment off to the delivery guy, and soon he was on his way.

The dining table was still cluttered with their field stripped weapons. It also needed a quick wipe down to clean off any grease or stray lubrication. Shayne dumped the pizza box on her coffee table by the couch instead. After washing their hands, they sat side by side on Courtney’s sofa.

At the sight of the toppings Courtney picked out for Shayne, the last of the tension eased from his form. He wore a contented smile and gave her a grateful look. Courtney showed Shayne the ways of the broke community college student. She tore up the lid of the pizza box to turn them into makeshift plates. The pizza was still hot to the touch, so it was a necessary measure. Shayne shook his head but wore a small smile as he accepted a cardboard plate.

They’d gotten through their first slices when Shayne spoke up once more. “Those things I said – about being done fighting and not wanting to go back to that,” Shayne’s voice was heavy. Courtney wouldn’t doubt his sincerity, “I meant that. I still mean that. I don’t want to fight if I don’t have to.”

“You don’t have to, Shayne.” Courtney reminded him.

“No,” Shayne spoke firmly but gently, “I do. This isn’t just about Lewis.”

Courtney knew what was coming before Shayne even said it.

“I know how tough you are, Court. Goddamn Atomic Blonde with the hand cannon and the judo throwing – shit, you could probably kick _my_ ass,” Shayne cracked the smallest of smiles. “But I’m not taking any chances – not with you. Never with you.”

Shayne’s lips were parted slightly as he took the time to pick his words. His gaze flitted away from hers as he spoke quietly, almost in a whisper, “I lost my family once.” It looked like it took a great deal of strength for Shayne to look at her with those emotional eyes of his. “I’m not letting that happen again.”

If Courtney’s hands weren’t so greasy from the pizza, she would’ve reached out for him. She pretended that was the reason she kept her hands to herself, and not because the lump in her throat may be joined by tears if she so much as touched him.

“The best way to do that is to make sure Lewis is dealt with. If we can find him and bag him, drop him off at the 15th – then great. If we can’t,” Shayne sighed, “We’ll do what we have to do.”

“Shayne…”

“We scare the shit out of each other, Court. Lewis – he scares me too now that he’s off the deep end.” Shayne’s shoulder bobbed with a half-shrug, “Only way to face this fear is to make sure Lewis can’t hurt anyone else, especially you – most of all you, Court.”

“Because if it comes to it, I – there’s no decision to be made.” Shayne paused for a beat and licked his lips, “If I had to pick who walks out alive, I’m picking you.”

“I don’t want you to kill a man and say that it was for me, Shayne.”

Shayne gave her a dry smile and said, “I’ll say I was doing it for me, then. Peace of mind. I’ll sleep better knowing Lewis isn’t out there hurting people.”

In the end, all Courtney wanted was for Shayne to be safe. She could reconcile the moral dilemma of the vigilantism – especially if they caught Lewis alive – with how he and Damien felt responsible for Lewis. The FBI may have been acting as the advisors for the probe into Lewis’ bombings, but they weren’t getting results yet. She understood the pressing urge Shayne must be feeling to deal with this before it spiraled even further out of control. And of course, with Lewis putting her on his shit list, Shayne was liable to have a heart attack from stress alone. He needed this. She could tell Shayne didn’t want this deep down, but to him, it had to be done.

“I just don’t want you to get hurt,” Courtney voiced her concern. The last thing that could be said to dissuade him.

“Well, that’s kinda what the vest is for,” Shayne had the hint of a playful smile on his lips. “I figured you’d be pissed off if I got shot again.”

Courtney bit her lip. “Yeah, pissed is one word for it.”

Shayne laughed a low, soft laugh and nodded. He picked out a second slice of pizza for her, and then for himself. Before biting down, Shayne turned to look at her once more. His face was serious yet again. “Damien and I are gonna try and find him in the morning. But I can’t go out there without knowing you’re safe first.”

Courtney wanted to again tell Shayne to just stay close by her side instead of going on the hunt. It would be as futile as Shayne’s attempts had been to get her to back down from challenging Lewis and calling him out.

She opted for the full and honest truth instead.

“I’m going to Senator Ori’s fundraising gala at the Royal Hospitality,” Courtney got the worst bits out before Shayne could react. She went on with a little eyeroll, “He wants to continue our little chat about guns in a private interview before the event proper. No cameras. Just me, him, my notebook, and a pen. Probably thinks it’ll get his approval ratings up or something when I publish the piece.”

Shayne didn’t say anything at first. He just tightened his eyes and tilted his head at her. He vaguely gestured as if in invitation to make the guess as to what was bothering him about this.

Lewis’ top two targets in one room ripe for the picking. Courtney was well aware of the danger it posed. But just like she wouldn’t back down and cower because of Lewis, she couldn’t turn down the senator’s invitation. Not to mention it was more reach for Smosh and she would never miss the opportunity to help out Ian and Anthony.

Shayne spoke up with a sigh, “Is the FBI pulling security?”

“No,” Courtney shook her head and clarified, “Private security firm called Paladin. NYPD will be providing light security too. They’ll be following us from here to the hotel.”

“Paladin,” Shayne muttered under his breath, “Not sure if I’ve heard of them.” There was a pause then and Shayne let out a cross between a scoff and a chuckle, “The gun control guy is hiring an armed private security firm for protection?”

“One of life’s little ironies, I guess.” Courtney smiled. “I did a bit of googling, and they seem reliable enough. I’ll be safe.”

Shayne chewed on his pizza thoughtfully before swallowing and mused, “In the Marines, when we took our crash course in asset protection – y’know, VIP security – aside from catching bullets and all that stuff,” He shrugged, “One of the things they taught us is that if shit is gonna hit the fan, it _will_ hit and it’s gonna be messy. Best case scenario, and the main reason for having a well-armed security detail, is that it’s hopefully enough to dissuade the attacker.”

“So, you’re saying,” Courtney gestured with her cardboard plate, “If Lewis wanted to attack, he would – regardless of if it’s Paladin, NYPD, or FBI pulling security? And we just have to hope that Paladin is enough to discourage him?”

“Pretty much.”

“And what do you think? Is it enough?”

Shayne leaned back against the sofa. He appeared to ponder it over for a while as his leg bobbed up and down with nervous energy. “Two ways to think about it. One is that it takes time to plan and pull off an attack, especially on a guarded and fortified position like that hotel. Takes time to prepare IEDs, or whatever he plans to use in the attack. No telling if he’s gonna mail a bomb in like he did with the others, or if he’ll push in himself,” Shayne clenched his jaw for a moment and guessed, “Might be a bit of both. After what you said to him, it’s personal now.”

“We didn’t confirm on-air that I’d be having that interview with Senator Ori,” Courtney piped up.

“If he attacks, then the senator is his main target. You become a target of opportunity, and he won’t hesitate.”

Sighing, Courtney motioned for him to continue, “The second way to think about it?”

“He was in the infantry. Tough as nails, deadly as anything. They’re adaptable and can come up with plans on the fly. If he really wanted to attack the fundraiser, he’d do it. The plan might be half-baked, but he wouldn’t pass on the chance to attack.”

The thought sent a slight tingle of fear running down her spine. An off-kilter bomber was one thing. Him being a capable soldier as well was another alarming aspect altogether.

“I know there’s no talking you out of attending the fundraiser or the interview,” Shayne’s shoulders had an almost defeated slump to them.

“Well you’re a smart boy, aren’t you?”

Shayne rolled his eyes and continued, “I’ll drop you off at the Royal Hospitality.”

“I kinda wish I could just bring you along as my own private security. Like, just tell them,” Courtney cracked a smile, “Hey, this is Brad, he was in the Marines and he can kill a man with a pencil. Don’t mind him – he’ll just stand in the corner brooding while we talk.”

Shayne snorted out a laugh and shook his head in denial.

“Brooding? I don’t brood.”

Courtney fixed him with her dubious gaze, until he muttered, “Fine, maybe a little.”

“The other reason I can’t do that is there’s gonna be so many cameras in the building to cover the fundraiser,” Courtney explained, “We don’t want your face to go up on the noontime news or on YouTube and someone manages to recognize you under that beard.”

Shayne toyed with the rumpled corners of his cardboard plate, a small frown on his features. “If this weren’t Lewis, you know I’d do it, Court.”

“I know,” Courtney smiled. She would’ve preferred that he stayed somewhere close and waited for the fundraiser to be over, but it was out of the question now. Courtney had to do her job, and Shayne had to do things his way.

“I’ll pick you up once you’re done there and take you back home or to Smosh or wherever. See if you can ask the detective for another cruiser to stay close by.”

“No promises,” Courtney said, “NYPD’s tangled up on the manhunt. FBI’s got their people deployed elsewhere. The agents in charge are working with Matt to use the NYPD as their main force on the ground.”

Shayne clearly didn’t like the uncertain answer, but there was nothing he could do about it. He nodded in acceptance and they continued eating in silence. It wasn’t a thick or heavy sort of stillness between them. The air had been cleared from their little argument. All that remained was the deep dread they shared over one another’s safety. They both felt it and they knew it. Yet there was little more to be said to ease one another’s fears.

Once dinner was out of the way, they tidied up and resumed cleaning their respective guns. Max lied down under the table, graciously accepting their foot-pats now that he was done eating. Inevitably, their feet bumped into each other from time to time. Courtney would shoot him a wink, and Shayne would curl his lip in a show of disgust before laughing along with her. After their weapons were reassembled and reloaded, they took turns getting cleaned up.

Courtney, now freshly bathed, stepped back into the bedroom. Shayne was already lying down, but this time on her side of the bed. Courtney found him eyeing the framed picture by her end table. It was the photo from Damien’s wedding. It had found its home on that table ever since it was framed. Courtney enjoyed waking up to it, especially since Shayne was often already out of bed by the time she woke. It gave her a little pep in her step to start the day.

The photo’s counterpart was in her living room. It took up the spot that Shayne’s family photo had previously occupied. Courtney sometimes imagined having all three of those pictures together once they moved in. Whenever that may be.

“Move it, Frog Arms.”

Shayne huffed a slight laugh but complied. He scooted over to his side of the bed so Courtney could lie down. Max hopped up to assume his usual spot. He gnawed on his favorite disfigured tennis ball as he splooted down.

Courtney barely had time to turn off her bedside lamp when Shayne wrapped his arms around her waist. She let out a little yelp, followed by a giggle when her back pressed against his solid, broad chest. Max gave them a precautionary bark, as if telling them to behave.

“Mind your own business, bud,” Shayne retorted.

Max barked back once more, then continued chewing on his ball.

Courtney shifted around until she faced Shayne. He propped his head up with an elbow on his pillow. His other hand was wrapped around her waist, towards her lower back. Her shirt was riding up – as it tended to do around him – and his fingers were brushing against her bare skin. She shivered at his touch. It was enough to make Courtney want to climb him like a tree, but she refrained.

“You’re handsy tonight,” Courtney teased. It was her poor attempt at covering up how easy to fluster he made her.

“And you’re not?”

Courtney’s hand was already cupping Shayne’s face and stroking his fuzzy cheek. She pursed her lips and shrugged. “Gotta ask a lady permission before you pull her around like that.”

Shayne’s handsome face split into a fond smile. He rolled his eyes and played along. If only his voice wasn’t so damn husky and heavy in the short space between them. “Permission to touch you, ma’am?”

Courtney bit her lip as heat prickled throughout her entire body. It was all she could do not to maul Shayne’s face with her lips.

He had to know how that sounded. Surely, he wasn’t _that_ unaware of his words and the implicit meaning they carried – _especially_ when he said it like that.

And then she saw that shit-eating grin he wore at the sight of her pink cheeks. Courtney confirmed it. The little shit absolutely knew what he was doing.

Too could play at that game.

Their legs were already brushing up against one another. Courtney inched closer, sliding her leg in between his. She brought her knee to a stop, nuzzled between his strong thighs and dangerously high up.

“I dunno, Marine. Think you can handle it?”

Shayne’s grin was wiped from his face. Courtney watched the bob of his Adam’s apple as he gulped. He looked like a deer caught in the headlights. He was blinking, eyes running all over her face like he was drinking in the sight of her. His warm hand on the small of her back was stroking her skin in short, enticing motions.

With how little space there was in between them, Courtney could feel his body radiating heat. She’d gotten adept at resisting Shayne’s gravity-like pull. But it was a struggle just the same to not slide her leg further up and press her lips to his.

Courtney instead moved her hand from his face and down to his neck, then finally stopping over his chest. She pinched the fabric of his shirt between her index finger and her thumb in an idle sort of motion. Courtney could feel the rapid beat of Shayne’s heart. Far too fast for someone lying in bed with his not-girlfriend. He deserved a little slack.

Courtney eased up on the teasing before it got out of hand. He had enough on his mind without her being a horndog. Her leg slid down to give him a break. She leaned in to peck a kiss to his cheek before pulling back to give him space. Shayne looked like he’d been awoken from a trance.

“C’mon. Busy day tomorrow.” With that, Courtney shuffled until she gave her back to Shayne. She giggled when she felt the ticklish sensation of Shayne’s beard as he pressed a slow, long kiss to the side of her neck. He kept his arm wrapped around her as he got comfortable.

“Night, babe.”

“Good night, Shayne.”

A part of Courtney had expected sleepless hours to tick by before slumber came. It was a logical thing to have anticipated. There was so much happening in a particularly short span of time. Tough articles to write were enough to keep Courtney up. What more the impending threat of Lewis’ attack? It was a stroke of good fortune that Shayne’s comforting aura was enough to put her mind at ease. It was a piece of cake letting go the troubling thoughts. Knowing that Shayne would keep her safe and didn’t have a death wish did the trick.

It wasn’t like when he’d gone after the gangs. Courtney used to feel like his bulletproof vest was just there to buy him more time to wage his war. Not because he truly cared about getting out of the fight in one piece. Longevity and the big picture weren’t part of Shayne’s plan when he dragged Schoonover into that shed in the woods. It was different now. Like Shayne said, he was done. He didn’t want to get back out there. That vest was to make sure he’d come home in one piece if things with Lewis went sideways. Sleep came easy for Courtney because of that.

The morning sun was soon peeking through Courtney’s curtains. She awoke from a restful, dreamless sleep. A frown made its way to her sleepy face when she felt the bed’s dip behind her, and the familiar weight of Shayne’s sturdy arm around her waist. It was one of the few times she’d awoken before him. She usually snoozed straight through him leaving the bed. But today – Shayne was flushed against her, and through the sleepy haze, Courtney felt a strange stiffness pressing up against her ass.

It took a few moments for the realization to hit her like a truck. A burning heat erupted from deep within her core and spread throughout her entire being. Her skin crawled with goosebumps that betrayed her unwitting excitement. But the slow, deep breaths tickling the back of her neck meant Shayne was still out like a light.

Courtney failed to fight back the grin that crept up to her face. She craned her head the slightest bit, pausing when Shayne let out a mumble. It was soft, heavy, and sounded distinctly like her name.

Fuck.

It took more willpower than Courtney would admit not to press back against him in the hopes of hearing that murmur again.

Instead, she continued turning to get a better look at Shayne. She felt his body tense as he woke. It was easy to tell, given the unintentional grinding.

Courtney hadn’t been laid in so long. A part of her hoped this would turn into one of those bad, cheesy porn fantasies. She wouldn’t mind missing the interview if it meant spending a steamy morning with Shayne.

But alas, that wasn’t the sort of luck she had.

Shayne’s eyes were wide open now. His mouth hung slightly agape as he was frozen in place.

Courtney broke his stupor with a sly grin and a quip of, “Isn’t this the part where you go,” She had a terrible Al Pacino impression, but that didn’t stop her, _“Say hello to my little friend?”_

Shayne dragged his hips back and rolled away from her. “Oh my God!”

She really shouldn’t be laughing, but she couldn’t help herself. Shayne was pink and turning a lovely shade of red with embarrassment. He sat on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands, letting out a low groan.

“I’m sorry, Courtney.” Shayne grumbled into his hands. “Fuck.”

Courtney scooted over to get behind him. She tried to bite back the giggles as she wrapped her arms around him. The low, flustered groaning Shayne continued to produce only made her laugh all the more.

“It’s okay.” Courtney nuzzled the nape of his neck. “It’s okay. No harm done.”

Another long groan, and it sounded like it pained Shayne from the very depths of his being. If he could turn invisible or melt into the cracks of her floorboards, Shayne probably would’ve done so. Courtney was smiling wide when she placed comforting kisses to the back of his neck and reassured him, “It’s okay – don’t be embarrassed. It’s like, biology.”

“God,” Shayne muttered into his hands.

“Unless,” Courtney could never pass up the opportunity to tease him. Her breath was hot and heavy against his neck. She nipped at his ear, unable to contain the bubbling excitement, “You were dreamin’ about me?”

“Jesus Christ,” Shayne grumbled, prying her hands off so he could stand up. He threw his hands into the air in exasperation, “I’m showering first.”

“Try not to have too much fun in there without me!” Courtney called after Shayne as he disappeared with a scoff.

Max cracked one eye open to look at Courtney. The dog made a quiet snorting sound, as if he didn’t have the patience for their silliness. Courtney gave Max a scratch on the head and hopped up. “C’mon, bud. Let’s get you something to eat.”

Courtney went through the usual motions of her morning routine. The interview may not have been scheduled particularly early that morning, but they still slept in a little. They didn’t have time for a heavy breakfast. So, she cracked open a few cups of Macrogurt, a serving of oats, and some sliced fruits from the fridge. She mixed them together in a bowl to form a very hasty breakfast parfait.

After that, she got two servings of coffee ready on her Keurig and poured them into their thermoses. The time was too tight to sit around sipping scalding coffee. If Shayne had any objections to her Keurig, she’d make him eat those little plastic cups he complained about.

Courtney lugged the bowl into the bedroom to set it down on her end table. She took spoonfuls in between assembling her outfit for the day. She eventually decided on a light blue blouse and a black pencil skirt. A neat and smart look for her interview with the senator. A part of her missed the blazer, but it was a little overkill for the event.

Shayne eventually stepped out of the bathroom looking dressed to kill – in more ways than one. In lieu of his usually colorful attires, Shayne wore a black Henley and a dark pair of jeans. With his combat boots, it would be an imposing look to most. To Courtney, he just looked like something out of her rougher and wilder fantasies. Those damn clothes hugged his muscular figure all too well. The loose, messy bun he wore just tied the look together. He was the very definition of ruggedly handsome.

“I smell yogurt,” Shayne declared as he entered the bedroom. Courtney passed him the bowl on the way to the bathroom.

Without the luxury of time on their side, Courtney cleaned up with haste. Now wasn’t the time to let her imagination wander. She couldn’t afford to indulge in those thoughts – to pretend the hands scrubbing her body clean were his and not her own. To imagine how tightly he could hold her with those muscular arms. To wonder what his lips felt like on her neck underneath the hot spray of water as his hands dipped down and –

Fuck.

Courtney shut the water off before she could indulge herself any further.

After toweling off and drying her hair, Courtney got dressed. She stepped out and headed straight for the living room. Shayne was already there. His shirt was rolled up a few inches as he tucked his concealed carry holster onto his person. Courtney got a glimpse of the stitches on his well-defined torso. They were due to be removed in a few days now and looked like they were healing nicely. His long sleeves concealed the scar on his arm, which was healing well; the stitches had already been extracted.

Shayne nodded at her in greeting while holstering a pistol. She didn’t miss how he was packing the M17 he owned off the record instead of Bradley Russo’s registered Glock. Shayne was serious about these precautions and it showed. It would prevent ballistics from being traced back to him if the worst came to pass.

They were on the road not long after that. A police cruiser was tailing them on the way to the hotel. Max was strapped into the backseat. Joining the dog was Shayne’s bulletproof vest tucked out of sight, and his heavy coat lying in a heap on the seat. It was a quiet drive, broken mostly by either of them sipping from the coffee Courtney packed them. Shayne behaved and didn’t complain about the Keurig, and she was grateful for that.

They were nearing the Royal Hospitality when Shayne’s phone rang. They were at a stop then, so Shayne checked the caller before answering and putting it on speaker.

“Morning, dude.”

Damien’s voice answered over the phone, “Hey – morning. Can we talk? It’s kinda urgent.”

“Yeah,” Shayne nodded as he spoke, “You’re on speaker. Courtney’s here.”

There was a pause, during which Shayne and Courtney exchanged glances. Damien asked, “Hi, Courtney. Are you, uh – in the loop?”

“Hey, Damimien,” Courtney greeted. “Yup. Shayne filled me in.”

“Shayne, remember how we said the feds would check out O’Connor’s place since they would know he’s an associate?”

“Yeah,” Shayne shrugged as he eased down on the gas pedal to get them moving. “Did they handle it?”

“No,” Damien’s sigh was audible over the phone. “I’ve been listening to the police scanner nonstop and-”

Courtney turned her suspicious eyes towards Shayne. He focused on the road, rather than face her disapproval over his illegal possession of police equipment.

“-they listed all the places they’re checking out today. Relatives, a few guys from his unit – nothing about O’Connor. So, it got me thinking, right?”

“Right.”

“O’Connor was there when Lewis was booked for the protest, but he scrammed,” Damien reminded, “The arrest report wouldn’t have detailed O’Connor. The NYPD and the FBI have no idea they’re connected.”

Shayne cursed, “Fuck. Where are you now?”

Damien’s silence was telling. The unease rumbled in Courtney’s gut, and she could only imagine how Shayne felt. They were close to pulling up on the hotel now. Throughout the whole ride, it had been somewhat easy to gulp down the anxiety and dread that had built up the night prior. Now it was rising back up with a vengeance.

“I’m staking out O’Connor’s house. I won’t make a move until you get here.”

“Oh my God,” Shayne muttered as they pulled up in the driveway. He told Damien, “Sit tight and don’t get any bright ideas. I’ll be there soon.”

“Don’t worry about me,” Damien said. There was the sharp sound of a pistol slide being racked. “I’ll be here.”

The call ended, leaving Shayne and Courtney with knots in their stomachs. There wasn’t any time to process the information. Shayne had his job to do and Courtney had hers. All she could do was trust in Shayne to handle things on his end while she focused on the interview and stayed safe. Her .380 was tucked into her purse and she was ready for anything.

Security at the hotel looked ample as well. At the entrance, she could see Ian already here, which meant their camera crew was setting up inside. He was speaking with Matt, while several security agents with Paladin windbreakers stood guard or walked around on patrol.

“Call me and I’ll come running.”

Courtney turned back to face Shayne, whose features were once more a series of hard lines. His hand reached out to squeeze her own as he added, “I promise.”

“Come home to me in one piece.” Courtney smiled through the apprehension. With a lighthearted frown, she added, “That’s an order.”

Shayne’s face softened as he chuckled. “Yes, ma’am.”

Courtney stepped out of the car before she could be tempted to ditch the interview altogether. Maybe take Shayne somewhere remote and private, far away from all the drama and danger. They could rent a cabin in the mountains up in Montana. He could wear all the flannel he wanted, and Max would love the open space. Or maybe she could convince him to take a road trip to her family in Utah. They’d probably be thrilled to see her come home with a good-looking guy like Shayne, even if he did look like a hipster. Kari would probably judge her for that. But Courtney would take Kari’s judgment of her taste in men over Lewis’ mad bombings any day.

She greeted Ian at the entrance while Max grumbled and snorted at the man. With a heavy heart, Courtney watched Shayne’s car pull out of the driveway. He left, venturing forth into what could very well be the belly of the beast.

Courtney only hoped Damien and Shayne would have each other’s backs.

* * *

“Don’t worry about me,” Damien said. He tugged back on the slide of his M1911. At the sight of the chambered round, he pushed it forward with force to ensure the round had fed properly. “I’ll be here.”

Damien didn’t subscribe much to the idea of luck anymore. After losing a leg, luck isn’t something you can reconcile easily. The idea of good luck and bad luck becomes so muddled and finicky, you’d rather not deal with it at all. Having a limb taken away and chalking it up to bad luck felt terrible. Calling your survival good luck didn’t make you feel any better either.

When Damien caught sight of an unknown car pulling up in front of O’Connor’s house – he wasn’t sure if it was good or bad luck. Lewis’ closely cropped red hair came into view, emerging from the beat-up vehicle.

The only thing Damien was sure of was the need to act in that moment. He hadn’t been counting on Lewis arriving so soon, but there was no choice. There was no time to tell Shayne or drop another hint to the FBI or the NYPD. Who knew how long Lewis intended to stay here in O’Connor’s house? He may just be taking a quick stop. By the time Shayne got here, Lewis would likely be in the wind doing God knows what – probably procuring more supplies for his attack, if not putting his nefarious plans into action.

Lewis made a short survey of his surroundings before walking over to the trunk. He popped it open and pulled a weighty duffel bag out. From where Damien sat, he could make out the logo of Paladin, the security firm.

The possibilities were endless, and none of them good. He could’ve stolen the bag. Maybe he killed the owner to get it. Judging by the weight of the bag, there could be any number of things within – ranging from a Paladin security agent’s uniform, to the weapons issued to said agent. Probably both and more.

Damien tucked the gun into his holster and rolled his shirt down to conceal it. He had to act. Lewis was moving with purpose and force in his strides like a soldier on a mission. If there were a final chance to get Lewis to stand down, this was it.

The car door swung open. Damien stepped out on unsteady feet. Lewis had his back turned and was marching over to O’Connor’s front door.

Hobbling be damned, Damien picked up the pace. He crossed the empty street just as Lewis reached the house. He was adjusting his grip on the duffel bag while unlocking the door. It was now or never.

“Lewis,” Damien called out from not far away, standing by the weedy garden.

Lewis’ posture stiffened. His shoulders locked with tension as his head drooped for a second. Damien’s heart lied still in his chest, waiting for Lewis to make a move. Lewis let out an audible sigh before craning his head over his shoulder.

“Hey, doc.”

The younger vet didn’t move a single muscle for a long pause. Damien’s fingers anxiously fluttered by his sides, inches away from the grip of his pistol. He had the advantage. Lewis couldn’t draw, turn, aim, and shoot while he had his back turned. Damien could beat him at the draw in half a second if he needed to.

He prayed to God it wouldn’t come to that.

“What’re you doing at O’Connor’s?” Damien attempted to break the ice. Doing so might just send them plummeting down to the frigid dangers below, but there were few alternatives. If he could keep Lewis talking, his guard could be thrown off balance.

Lewis shifted the duffel bag on his shoulder as he answered. “Gonna grab a beer or two. You want one?”

Damien didn’t bother pointing out that the sun was shining, and it was still relatively early in the morning. It was a piss-poor excuse, and Lewis probably knew that himself. But if this had to go down, Damien would rather take it inside the house than out on the street.

“Yeah. Sure.” With a wry smile, Damien told him, “Lead the way.”

The face Lewis made was more of a sneer than a smile. He turned the keys and unlocked O’Connor’s front door. When he pushed it open, Damien nearly gagged. The foul stench of rot and decay assaulted his senses. Lewis continued on inside, unperturbed by the smell.

Damien’s hand never strayed past a few inches away from the grip of his gun. His face was twisted in disgust as he stepped into the rundown house, shutting the door behind him. Lewis led him around the corner and into the living room, where the odor was most potent.

Boxes of takeout were strewn across any unoccupied surface. Beer bottles cluttered the floor. Blood stained the carpet and the peeling wallpaper. On a reclining chair by one side of the room was the source of the vile scent. A body was slumped in the chair. A sickly red shower curtain was wrapped over it. But that didn’t stop the flies and pests from making the corpse their home.

Yet even more alarming than the body were the improvised explosives. On the filthy kitchen counter were bits and pieces of circuitry and electronics. Spread throughout the room were large plastic tubs, with wires haphazardly running along the walls from tub to tub. The acrid smell of fertilizer was distinguishable from the stench of rot permeating the air.

The whole fucking house was rigged to explode.

Damien froze.

Lewis slowly turned on his heel to face Damien, glaring at him as he grit his teeth. Damien took in the scene one final time before speaking. He would’ve liked to take a big breath of air to steel himself, but the pungent stench was too much.

“Is that O’Connor?”

Lewis set the duffel bag down before nodding his head, “Yes.”

“He looks like he’s been there for a while.”

“That doesn’t matter now.” Lewis’ eyes were fixed on Damien’s chest, unable to look him straight in the eye. His lean form was steadily being rocked by the shallow and ragged breaths he was taking. “You shouldn’t be here, doc.”

He was as lost and out of control as he sounded over the call to Smosh. In the deepest parts of his being, Damien knew Lewis was far gone and beyond help. But Damien never listened to that feeling. Accepting that Lewis was over the edge meant accepting failure. He couldn’t do that. He couldn’t bring himself to believe there wasn’t any hope or any chance of redemption.

“Lewis, buddy…” Damien tilted his head down to try and meet the shorter man’s shaky, damp eyes. “We can still figure this out. It’s never too late to do the right thing. Come with me.”

“No,” Lewis was quick to bite back, “I _am_ doing the right thing.” His hands twitched at his sides. Damien’s eyes darted to them – and then to his hip, where a pistol was concealed.

Lewis’ jaw ticked before he said, “You have to go, Damien. Please.”

Damien gave Lewis a sad smile. “I can’t leave here without you, Lewis. You know that, right?”

“Yeah,” Lewis gave him a nod, heavy with remorse. “Right.”

Damien didn’t have the heart to unholster his gun. Not when looking at his friend’s lost, broken eyes.

Slowly, Lewis pulled his own weapon free and heaved a heavy sigh.

“You can’t leave here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! What's that? There aren't enough cliffhangers? I hear you loud and clear!
> 
> I wanted a diverse mix of emotion in this chapter to put you all on a nice rollercoaster. From the debate over Shayne's vigilantism, to the heartache they both feel over each other's safety, to the mounting sexual tension and callback to The Line We Built, and of course the growing dread as Damien can't bring himself to draw first against his old friend.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this one. Let me know what you thought of it! Apologies for the delay too. This was supposed to go up over the weekend but I got caught up prepping for an impromptu D&D session, as is the DM's plight. But I digress. I should be able to go back to posting the final chapters like 2-3 at a time in the coming week(s). I'll catch you guys then. have a great day now!


	38. Helpless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damien tries to stop Lewis. Shayne races against time.

Instinct alone is what saved Damien’s life in that moment.

Lewis raised the pistol up to head level, but Damien moved first. He snapped his head and torso out of the line of fire, hands lurching forward to grab the gun. His steps were clumsy – he cursed his dummy leg for the nth time – but he pulled on the weapon, and Lewis along with it. He shifted his hips to interpose himself between Lewis and the gun. Lewis growled in frustration as his muscles fought against Damien’s superior build and leverage.

Damien used that size difference to his advantage. He straightened out his legs and leaned back against Lewis, sending them stumbling over to the side. Lewis crashed ribs-first next to the doorframe leading out of the living room. With an iron grip around the pistol, Damien smashed Lewis’ hand into the edge of the wall, earning a sharp cry of pain from the other man. Lewis fought for his footing, to regain the initiative. Expecting Damien to ram his hand into the wall again, he pushed against him with his entire bodyweight.

Counting on exactly that, Damien didn’t resist the change in momentum. Lewis’ small but strong form sent them staggering to the other side of the room. As they did, Damien reestablished control of his wrist and the gun. With a twist, Damien slammed Lewis’ armed hand onto the edge of a table. Stacks of VHS tapes clattered to the ground, and their shuffling feet began to kick them around. Damien put all his upper body strength and weight into one final slam, and the gun was successfully disarmed. It fell behind the table with a weighty thud.

His hand now free, Lewis was quick to strike Damien in the face. His head snapped back with a grunt, and he was forced to catch himself on unsteady feet.

“Doesn’t have to be this way, Lewis,” Damien bought himself the time to widen his stance to stay balanced. Fighting on a prosthetic leg was neither easy nor to his advantage. One wrong move was all it took.

Lewis shook his head with disdain and adopted a fighting stance of his own. Panting, he said, “This is the only way, doc.”

He advanced on Damien with a jab, who deflected it easily with his forearm. The straight came next, and Damien struggled to weave out of the way. He slid his prosthetic foot back to keep balance. He didn’t miss how Lewis’ eyes darted down to his glaring weak spot.

Damien threw a sharp jab of his own, cutting Lewis on the lip. He ducked under Damien’s wide hook and immediately shot for his legs. Damien’s heart skipped a beat when Lewis’ fingers gripped at his pants leg.

Damien sprawled forward for all he was worth, forcing his weight down onto Lewis and kicking his legs – prosthetic or otherwise – back out of reach. With a sharp exhale, Damien crashed his elbow down onto Lewis’ back, flooring him. Damien caught himself before he could tumble right down with the younger vet. He pulled himself up and took a step back, breathing heavily.

“Just,” Damien gasped for air, “Just stay down, Lewis. It’s over.”

Damien’s eyes did a cursory check of their surroundings. The tubs of improvised explosives were spread out. The wires ran along the edges and corners of the room. At least for the moment, he didn’t need to worry about an accidental detonation because one of them kicked a payload during the struggle.

Lewis was gradually getting onto a knee. He glared up at Damien, grey eyes storming with contempt. Blood trickled down from the corner of his mouth.

He should’ve drawn his gun. It was the smart thing to do, especially now that he had the second chance to do so.

But the anger that twisted Lewis’ face was disarming. It was miles apart from the lonely, aimless veteran and friend he’d come to know across the months.

Those two or three seconds of hesitation bought Lewis the time he needed to lunge once more. Again, Damien dropped his hands onto Lewis’ nape and the back of his head. He put all his bodyweight into the sprawl as Lewis flailed for his prosthetic leg, which made the perfect target. Damien tried to keep Lewis on the ground, but it didn’t last.

Lewis stopped pressing against Damien so he could roll to the side and free himself from the sprawl. Damien just barely avoided faceplanting to the ground himself. He didn’t have time to get into a solid stance before Lewis struck.

The man’s bony hands were sharp against Damien’s face. He struggled to defend against the onslaught. He brought his arms up to protect his face, only for Lewis to throw debilitating hooks and uppercuts to his vulnerable torso. Damien crashed right into him in an attempt to regain the upper hand. He initiated the grapple and quickly established dominance.

Damien repaid every strike he withstood with blows against Lewis’ face. He let out sharp grunts of pain as he struggled against Damien like a wild animal. His legs pushed them one way or another, bumping them from wall to wall, narrowly avoiding the containers of explosives. His hands grabbed at Damien’s face in an attempt to gouge his eyes or yank at his ears. Damien kept his face tucked in and safe where it wouldn’t be hurt.

All the movement of the grapple was quickly taking its toll on Damien. What remained of his right leg wasn’t used to strenuous activity like this. A tingling pain was beginning to radiate from the knee. The phantom sensations of his missing lower leg were making themselves known.

When they crashed into the kitchen table, Damien felt the straps of the prosthetic misalign. His heart skipped a beat along with it.

He drove his elbow into the back of Lewis’ head, smashing his face into the table. Damien hobbled backwards on shaky legs. He panted, doubling over to realign his prosthetic. He didn’t have more than a few seconds until –

There was a blur of movement, and Damien barely had time to raise his arms to protect his face. A beer bottle exploded with a shower of glass against his arms. A roar of exertion came from Lewis as he barreled into Damien before he could react. His arms hooked under Damien’s knees, and his shoulder rammed into his midsection in a textbook takedown. Damien’s stomach turned as he got an eyeful of the ceiling.

Pain erupted across his back as Lewis drove him down onto O’Connor’s coffee table. It splintered on impact, crashing Damien onto the unforgiving floor. All the wind left Damien’s body as he was powerless to stop Lewis from pressing the advantage. His sharp fists bludgeoned Damien’s face, rocking his skull back against the floor.

Weakly, Damien brought his legs up. His good foot tried to press against Lewis’ hip to push him back – to buy himself a little breathing room. The other came up more as a force of habit from training long, long ago.

It worked – at least, for a few moments.

He drove Lewis back for a split second, and then got a kick into the younger man’s ribs. But Lewis was no stranger to fighting. Leave it to the goddamn infantryman to dominate in a fistfight.

As Damien sent his foot forward yet again, Lewis passed it with a sharp grunt. He trapped it with his arm, immobilizing Damien’s only effective weapon.

Aside from the gun.

He didn’t want to do it.

God, he really didn’t want to.

But Lewis was leaving him with no choice.

Damien’s hand reached for his hip, where the pistol was tucked away in its holster.

Then, Lewis grabbed his other leg. With a vicious, sharp twist, he yanked the prosthetic free.

It was enough to throw off Damien’s aim as his heart just about stopped right then and there.

Lewis swung the prosthetic at Damien’s hand, sending the pistol flying out of reach before he could get a shot off. He dropped the dummy leg and sent his fist crashing down onto Damien’s face. The full bodyweight behind the strike was devastating. Damien’s vision blacked out as the blow connected with his nose.

Damien willed himself to stay awake. He fought back the creeping darkness in his vision as Lewis mounted him and unleashed his flurry of debilitating strikes – punches, hooks, elbows, and all.

His consciousness flickered.

It was increasingly difficult to focus on more than one sensation at any given moment each time he came to. The swollen and agitated skin deforming his face. The sharp, almost stabbing pain of Lewis’ knuckles. The pump of his heart, strong and willing while his body was not. The dull throb of blood in his vessels as his entire being ached. The disgustingly potent stench of rot that had never left the air. The taste of his own blood in his mouth as his lips were cut open and smaller lesions split his skin.

Eventually the pain stopped. He could feel a weight had been lifted from his chest – which meant Lewis had stood up. Through the pounding in his ears, Damien could hear Lewis’ shallow gasps for air. His shuddering breaths were matched with what he could only guess were sobs.

Damien lacked the fight to open his eyes. To sit up. To keep going or to plead with Lewis to just stop this madness.

Through his fleeting consciousness, he heard the metallic ring of a gun’s slide being drawn back. It was his own M1911. He knew that sound anywhere.

Weakly – and taking far more effort than Damien thought imaginable – he pried his eyes open. Vague and figureless shapes took time forming into distinct silhouettes. The trembling outline of Lewis’ shaky form soon came into focus. His Army green shirt was smeared with blood, like he’d used it to wipe his bruised features. He was pink in the face. Tears were streaming down his cheeks as he took in shallow breaths. As if he were suffocating and desperately needed the air.

In Lewis’ hands, he held Damien’s discarded pistol. It was aimed right at his head from where Lewis stood a few feet away.

Death and mortality were strange concepts to Damien.

His entire career in the Navy had been centered around its prevention. Damien had seen men with their insides spilling out, and he never once even considered giving up on them. If a man was shot in the head, Damien would always go through the due diligences to make sure every possible step had been taken. He had to be sure there was no saving that man before he pronounced him dead.

Being the guy in charge of putting people back together, he wasn’t at all a stranger to death. Working on the frontlines with other Navy units or Marines, he’d been exposed to all the dangers they dealt with. He never once truly worried about his own safety. He didn’t have time for that. He was too busy making sure everyone else could get home if they’d been injured. He was a corpsman. It was what people like him did. If he could’ve traded his life for any of those he’d failed to save across the years, Damien knew he would’ve done so in a heartbeat.

So, to be faced with his own mortality at the barrel of his own gun was befuddling.

Damien faced death like he did when he was a witness to it.

He put on a brave face. He didn’t give up. He didn’t waver. He didn’t act like his fate was sealed until the very moment the bullet splattered his brains out.

With wheezing breaths, Damien propped himself up onto his elbows. He stared up at Lewis’ tear-streaked face, determined to look him in the eye until the end.

Lewis’ turbulent grey eyes avoided his as the gun continued to shake in his hands.

“Look at me, Lewis,” Damien grunted. When Lewis didn’t, he repeated himself as loudly as his aching body would allow him, “Look at me.”

Lewis complied. His unsteady breaths had his entire body trembling with a cacophony of emotions. He held the gun with both hands in the futile attempt to steady his aim.

Damien waited for the final resounding bang of his pistol.

* * *

“Fuck.”

The moment Shayne laid eyes on Damien’s empty car, he knew things had gone wrong. He haphazardly parked his Civic next to Damien’s car, nearly bumping it in the process. He killed the engine and hopped off before slamming the door shut and locking it. Shayne crossed the street with hasty steps. His heart pounded furiously in his chest as he approached O’Connor’s front door.

It didn’t take a genius to connect the dots – Damien had likely seen Lewis arrive, and decided to make his move. Even if it might cost him his life, and – fuck, that just might be the case.

Shayne pulled his gloves on just as he reached the door. There was no time for stealth or caution now – not when Damien’s life was on the line. The locked door was quickly remedied by Shayne’s powerful boot smashing it in. The lock gave way and the door swung open.

Shayne coughed as the stench of decay assaulted his senses. He raised one hand up to cover his face while the other aimed his gun forward. His eyes snapped back and forth, assessing every square inch of the space for danger. His feet carried him forward automatically in search for his friend.

He rounded the first doorway and came to a dead stop.

Wires crisscrossed the room, leading into tubs of varying shapes and sizes, all reeking of ammonium nitrate. The obvious signs of a fight – broken furniture, clutter everywhere, some blood – all culminated in the limp form of Damien tied down to a rickety chair. His hands were bound behind his back, and a bloody gag was wrapped around his mouth. Over his chest, a harness was strapped on, along with a plastic-wrapped bundle of improvised explosives. A messy array of wires tangled along the vest and over the bundle of explosives. From the vest, the wires twisted and turned all around the room to the numerous tubs of volatile materials.

An old cellphone was attached to the bomb vest. The screen was on, and the display was illuminated with a timer ticking down with fifteen minutes left on the clock.

It was days like this Shayne wished he’d never woken up after the massacre in the park.

Shayne stepped into the room, mindful of the bundles of wires that dangerously clumped together in different places. He checked his surroundings briefly. The only other notable sight was a body on a reclining chair, obscured by a shower curtain. That explained what happened to O’Connor. But it was clear Lewis was nowhere in sight. He was a coward through and through. No way he’d be sticking around for this explosive finale.

Shayne’s anger flared hot in his chest. The M17 in his hands shook as he flicked the safety back on and holstered it. He settled for grinding his teeth to contain the fury at what had been done to his best friend.

Damien’s face was swollen and bloody from a fierce beating. Judging by the bruised and cut knuckles, it was at least an even fight for some time. The sight of Damien’s limp right pant leg brought Shayne’s rage up to a boil.

The absolute show of disrespect made Shayne want to empty his gun into Lewis’ chest. This – all of this – beating a former friend to a pulp and rigging him to explode – that was one thing. But to strip him of his goddamn prosthetic leg? The leg he’d lost because of an IED?

Shayne had to swallow down the seething tempest within.

He had to compartmentalize. Break down the scene before him, prioritize tasks, and execute them.

As Shayne slowly approached, taking care not to step on anything, he could see the weak rise and fall of Damien’s chest. The fact that he was alive and stable was a good sign. It was a start. Shayne could work from there.

It was simple, really.

Wake up Damien.

Find out what happened.

Defuse the bomb.

Get Damien to safety.

Find Lewis, who was undoubtedly preparing to attack The Royal Hospitality.

Stop him, no matter the cost.

It was simple on paper, anyway.

With a deep breath, Shayne crouched down to get on Damien’s level. He placed his hands on either side of Damien’s head to get it upright. He was mindful not to snag any of the wires with his arms. Gently, he shook Damien.

“Dames?”

The slightest tremble in his own voice sounded alien to Shayne. He pushed back the crippling feelings of despair and dread to focus on the man before him – one of the few people left in this world who would fight and die by his side. His battered and bleeding appearance had rocked Shayne to his very foundations and now wasn’t the time to have a fucking breakdown.

Shayne gulped and tried again, louder, “Damien – man, c’mon.”

He tilted Damien’s head back and slowly tugged down on the cloth gagging his mouth. Shayne’s heart skipped a beat at how bloody and swollen his lips were. They matched the rest of his poor face. The bloodstained cloth came to a loose stop around his neck.

From there, Shayne kept Damien’s head upright. It looked like a few vessels had been ruptured in his nose. That, combined with the gag, undoubtedly didn’t do his oxygen supply any favors. But now, it would only be a few more moments until –

Damien came to consciousness with a sharp gasp of air. He thrashed against his binds, muscles straining in hopes of freeing himself. His eyes were wild, flitting about in a panic.

“Hey,” Shayne whispered. He kept a firm but gentle hold on Damien’s swollen face. “Shh, hey.”

Damien’s eyes began to gain focus. With focus came clarity. He looked down at the improvised bomb strapped to his chest and only struggled harder than before.

“Hey, no – look at me,” Shayne kept one arm crossed on Damien’s chest to keep him from thrashing out and plucking out a wire that didn’t need to be plucked. The other remained on Damien’s face, forcing him to look back up at Shayne.

“Dames, it’s me. I’m here. I got you, man.” Shayne held Damien’s terrified gaze, “Just look at me. Don’t move.”

But there was no fighting the trauma. Not with how Damien was unceremoniously forced to face it in the worst possible way. He inevitably looked back down at the bomb vest with shallow breaths.

“Shh,” He hushed in that soothing tone – the same that had once calmed down many frightened Marines, and more recently, Courtney in the hail of machinegun fire. “Look at me, not at that. I got you, Damien.”

Damien’s ragged breaths eased by a fraction. He gulped and kept his swollen mouth shut, electing to breathe through his bloody nose. His brows pitched with frustration and humiliation as he spoke up.

“I tried to stop him.” His voice was hoarse and scratchy.

Shayne’s face hardened as Damien muttered, “He pulled my leg off.”

Fire lit up in Damien’s eyes when his bruised face twisted into a fierce scowl, “Back in the day, I would’ve snapped him in two.”

Shayne unclenched his jaw to assure him, “I know, Dames.” He settled his hands on either of Damien’s shoulders as he studied his battered head. “I know. No doubt about it.”

All the blood that caked Damien’s face was making Shayne’s own blood boil. His friend – his best goddamn friend – reduced to this beaten and battered man before him. His handsome mug swollen nearly beyond recognition barely two weeks after his wedding.

It wouldn’t do.

It wouldn’t do at all.

Shayne knew this wasn’t the top priority, but it had to be done. Damien deserved the dignity.

Shayne stood up and walked on towards the kitchen, head on a swivel.

“What’re you doin’?” Damien asked in a pained groan.

Shayne ignored the unwashed dishes in the sink in favor of the relatively clean cloth rumpled on the counter. He picked it up with his gloved hand and passed it over the water. “Gonna clean you up a bit. Get you outta here.” Shayne picked out a clean mug from the dishrack and filled it up. As he returned to Damien in the living room, he added with a dry smile, “We’ll be getting drinks in Josie’s before it gets dark.”

“Shayne,” Damien let out a humorless laugh. “Get out of here, man. Just – go call the cops or something. They’ll take care of me.” Damien’s head was downcast, looking at the timer on the cellphone. His despondent voice was telling. The brief ferocity that flared up in Damien was extinguished as quickly as it had come.

He didn’t bother to point out to Damien that the bomb would go off long before the police arrived. Not to mention that it was incomprehensible to Shayne to leave a man behind. Damien was well aware of both of these facts. Shayne instead bent back down and wiped the cloth over Damien’s lips. He cleaned the blood off his mouth before gently dabbing at the cuts on his cheeks. When Shayne was satisfied that the blood wouldn’t mix with the water, he extended the mug towards Damien.

“C’mon. Drink this.” Shayne’s voice took an almost fatherly tone in how he instructed Damien. He complied and parted his lips. Some water dribbled down Damien’s chin, but that was inconsequential. When he was done drinking, Shayne continued wiping his face until Damien’s fair complexion was more visible than the splotches of blood.

Shayne set the mug down on the nearest surface, right next to a gun – Damien’s .45 to be particular. Beside that was a car battery he hadn’t noticed before. Numerous wires were running from the battery over to Damien’s bomb vest, as well as the tubs of explosive payload. He picked the mug back up and placed it on a surface that didn’t have an accident waiting to happen.

“Shayne, just…” Damien tried again. His voice was clearer now. Less gravelly and dry. But it was as broken and defeated as earlier. “Go, man. You don’t have time for this.”

He didn’t plan on entertaining the thought of leaving here without Damien. There was just no reality in which that happened. But his choice of wording caught Shayne’s attention.

Shayne studied the car battery’s wiring. A glance at Damien’s tied hands revealed it was too risky removing his binds. They didn’t want to set the payload off by accident. He took deliberate steps around the room, sharp eyes following the tangled mess of wires from point to point. As he continued analyzing the horrifically messy setup, he asked, “Time – what do you mean I don’t have time for this?”

“He had this big bag with him,” Damien said, “It had _Paladin_ printed on it. After he decided not to shoot me, he was checking his watch and,” He shrugged slightly, careful not to agitate the wires, “In between mumbling some poem, he said something about a hotel and needing to setup.”

Shayne prided himself in his ability to separate his feelings, tasks, and priorities. It was part of what made him a good Marine.

But good fucking God – when it came to Courtney, his mind was ready to short circuit.

“He’s,” Shayne stammered as his head continued to turn this way and that, following the wires. He swept his messy hair in place, struggling to get the words out, “He’s gonna – the hotel, that’s – that’s where…”

Shayne clenched his jaw. Damien muttered meekly to complete the thought. “Courtney and the senator, right?”

“Yeah,” Shayne mumbled. He crouched down to inspect one of the tubs. After finding the latches free of any boobytraps, he pried one corner open. Shayne confirmed what he already knew deep down. This was the same compound that took so many lives overseas. There was enough in here for a dozen IEDs. Lewis concentrated them all to blow O’Connor’s house – and now Damien – to kingdom come.

Shayne straightened up and continued his investigation. He had to gulp down the bile that was rising up. He felt viscerally ill at the thought of Lewis so much as _touching_ a hair on Courtney’s precious goddamn head. He didn’t have the time to throw up and leave his DNA at what would be a crime scene if he could defuse this bomb – or a crater if he failed.

He needed to focus.

Courtney could wait a few minutes – which was really all that Shayne and Damien had. The timer was ticking down now to less than ten minutes. The police wouldn’t be able to mobilize a bomb squad and save Damien even if they had an hour to prepare. Not with this clusterfuck of a setup before them.

Damien would have to physically force him to leave if he couldn’t figure this out. There was no way he was saving Courtney but not Damien. He could do both. He _would_ do both.

Shayne dug back deep to the Explosive Ordnance Disposal classes. He wanted to ram his head into the wall when the memories came up cloudy. Because _of course_ , he and Billy managed to dick around during a good number of those lessons. Everyone thinks a specialized EOD unit can handle IEDs. They were always available to answer a call, even if it did take them hours to arrive. Nobody ever really thinks that they themselves are going to have to defuse a goddamn bomb.

There was so much to consider. It was making Shayne’s head spin.

He did his best to go over things one by one.

IEDs were volatile. So many things could set them off. If Shayne bumped into one of these tubs with his foot, the impact may set off a spontaneous reaction. If he rubbed any two wires together and they got frisky against the explosive payload, that was another thing. Hell – Shayne was afraid of even touching the car battery. With how tangled up the wires were, one wrong move might set it all off.

The only consolation was that the activator wasn’t wireless. Since this whole circuit was rigged to the timer on the phone strapped to Damien’s chest, radio waves couldn’t trigger the bomb. Shayne didn’t need to shut his phone off and sever the one lifeline Courtney had to him.

The thought occurred to call her then and warn her – get her to relay the information so she could flee, and the building could be cleared. But then another glance at the timer revealed he’d spent a lot of time in his head – studying the bomb and thinking back on his EOD lessons. There were five minutes on the clock. Every second counted, and he needed to concentrate his efforts on this building sized IED.

“I’ve seen so many bombs go off,” Damien’s voice was quiet. “Before the leg,” He shrugged, “Y’know, they didn’t scare me much more than any idiot with a gun did.”

Shayne listened as he circled the room, making sense of the bomb’s circuitry and configuration. Dryly, he told Damien, “I fucking hate bombs.”

“You and me both, buddy,” Damien’s laugh dripped with irony. “You know what’ll happen to us when this goes off?”

Shayne heaved a sigh as he picked up a pair of wire cutters off the kitchen counter. The surface was filled with bits of loose electronics and looked like Lewis’ main bombmaking workshop. He’d rigged to blow the place to cover up any evidence of his involvement. Now they were liable to be blown up along with it.

“With this ordnance,” Damien blew out an exhale, and then gave another dry laugh, “The overpressure from the initial blast is gonna turn our organs into liquid.” A beat of silence, and then he added, “If that doesn’t kill us right away, the fireball will.”

“Damien…”

“Not sure if we’ll be turned into red mist or charred bodies,” Damien stared down at the explosive payload on his chest. “I’m probably turning into mist.”

“Jesus,” Shayne muttered. He turned away from the trails of wires to look at Damien. “You said it yourself, Dames. We don’t have time for this. I need to-”

“What you need to do,” Damien interrupted, “Is to leave me. Get out of here. Help Courtney.”

Shayne gazed into Damien’s lost, routed eyes. He stepped forward to place a hand on Damien’s shoulder. Shayne’s thumb brushed at a dried streak of blood on his neck.

“Just go, man,” Damien repeated. “If you leave now, you can save her and anyone else in that hotel.”

“I’m not leaving you here.” Shayne shook his head. “We can’t give up now, Dames. C’mon, you said it yourself. You could’ve broken Lewis in two back in the day. This isn’t the time to quit.”

Damien’s sigh was heavy. He was staring holes into the bundle of explosives on his chest once more. Before Shayne could tell Damien to stop looking at it, he spoke up first. “When Lewis pointed my gun at me, I wasn’t afraid. Not really, anyway.”

“When you’ve been around so much death, it’s…” Damien scoffed, “It’s ironic. But death’s just another part of life, y’know?”

“Yeah,” Shayne eased his hand off so he could continue pacing the room. “I hear you.”

“I woke up a couple times when he was wiring me up.” Damien gulped audibly, “That’s when I was afraid. He had to knock me out again to get me to stop wriggling.”

Shayne grit his teeth. That dark, vengeful part of him was creeping back into his mind. It had been locked away when he stashed his vest into the false back of his closet. Now it was making itself known. It wanted blood.

He busied himself inspecting the wires by the bomb’s power source. If he had to snip a wire, he needed to know which one – or which color. While that was anyone’s guess at the moment, he could try and get a bead on _where_ it was safe to cut the wire. So far it seemed like a pretty even split. It had to be either by the activator – the phone on Damien’s chest, or the power source – the car battery.

“Maybe what happens here is supposed to happen,” The defeatist philosophy wasn’t a good look on Damien. It was entirely uncharacteristic of him. It exposed just how deeply his trauma ran. “If we even get out of this, fate is just gonna course correct. Set me up for some big fall. You shouldn’t have pulled me out of the rubble that day in the market.”

“This isn’t _Final Destination_ , Dames.” Shayne tried not to come across as scolding. That was the last thing Damien needed in these circumstances – but civility could go fuck itself. There were less than four minutes on the clock, and he needed to focus. “You sure Lewis didn’t hit you on the head harder than you realized?”

Damien ignored his retort, choosing instead to drone on, “There’s plenty of times I wished you never got me out of there.”

“Nah,” Shayne scoffed as he ran his fingers along the car battery’s wire. His eyes followed the path they took, the turns they made, and the divergences they underwent. “That’s bullshit, and you know it.”

It was Damien’s turn to huff, “You think I woke up with a missing leg and happy-feely thoughts? Ready to prance around on one leg like a Disney princess?”

Shayne released the wires. He couldn’t do the snip here. Any one of them would set off the detonation. That meant the cut had to be done by the activator.

Satisfied with his findings, Shayne pulled up a nearby chair to sit in front of Damien. The clock may have been ticking down but hearing Damien in such agony tugged at his heart. Shayne rested his arms on his legs as he leaned in.

“I’m proud of you, man.” Shayne kept Damien’s eyes focused on his and far away from the timer. “Everything you’ve done since then – you didn’t feel sorry for yourself. You didn’t wallow and lash out at other people.”

“You helped people, Damien. You did what you do best,” Shayne insisted, even as Damien shook his head.

“You wanna know why?” Damien continued at Shayne’s nod, “Whenever I talk to those vets, I talk to myself. If I can tell those things to them then maybe,” His pained chuckle made Shayne want to reel him in for a hug, “Maybe it’s actually true. Maybe it applies to me. You don’t think I wake up screaming? Thinking about what I used to be? That I don’t wish I could be one whole guy again?”

Damien’s lip curled in disgust with himself as he spat, “I got my ass handed to me by a guy half my size.”

“That’s not your fault,” Shayne reminded him.

“You know how it feels to be helpless, Shayne.” Damien’s eyes had grown damp. His Adam’s apple bobbed in the effort to contain his emotions. “I swore I’d never feel helpless again…”

“But here I am.” The first couple of tears trickled down Damien’s face. “I would’ve rather died in that first bomb than to be here now,” His eyes flickered downward to the bundle of explosives. “Sitting here. Strapped to one.” The tears dripped down the swollen cuts on his skin, turning into watery red streaks. Shayne stood up to retrieve the damp cloth he’d set down. He wiped the bloody streaks and gently dabbed at the lesions.

Since the very moment that IED went off, Shayne blamed himself for Damien’s loss. To Shayne, there was nobody else at fault. It was his job to keep the perimeter secure. He sighted the woman and he could’ve put her down easily, but he didn’t. He froze, and he ruined Damien’s life as a result.

To Damien, Shayne didn’t bear the slightest hint of responsibility. Even now – even with a bomb strapped to his chest with less than three minutes to go – Damien didn’t blame him for that. It felt like such an injustice to Shayne. To be let off the hook for ruining a man’s life. It was what kept him up at night to this day, even now that his nightmares had greatly diminished.

“You don’t owe me anything, Shayne.” It was as if Damien could read his mind. “What happened at the market – that’s not on you. It’s in the past, it’s over. You don’t have to die with me here today.”

Shayne didn’t acknowledge that. If he died here, he’d die trying to save Damien. He never left a man behind before, and he wouldn’t now.

Shayne’s throat seized up at the conflict that rumbled within him. At the promise he made to Courtney which he’d break if he died here. When his family was murdered, Shayne had stopped caring about himself and his wellbeing completely. He felt like a machine – like an empty husk that just existed to punish the people responsible for taking everything from him.

With Courtney – he wasn’t just a mindless drone. He was human again. He wanted to live again. Fuck – he wanted to _love_ again.

He wasn’t afraid of death even now as the timer dropped down to nearly two minutes. He was afraid of leaving Courtney behind unprotected. He didn’t want to imagine the heartbreak she’d have to endure with him gone.

If she even had the time to mourn him.

She could very well be under attack at this very moment, and he was none the wiser.

But Atomic Blonde was packing heat. If Paladin didn’t plug Lewis, then Courtney would. She was a good shot at the range and Shayne didn’t doubt her ability to shoot under pressure. She could take care of herself. She was a big girl. She didn’t need him.

The thought, however fleeting or uncertain, granted Shayne the strength to compartmentalize one final time. He held the wire cutters firmly in hand and studied the selection before him, ripe for the picking.

Damien was quick to notice Shayne’s sharp eyes hovering over the wires on his chest with purpose and determination.

“Shayne, c’mon. It’s over. Just get out of here.” Beads of tears were still welling up in Damien’s eyes. His lip quivered as he spoke, “We had our fun in deployment, training – all that. You don’t have to stay. Courtney needs you.”

Training.

Those weeks of EOD classes were all Shayne could count on. He had nothing else to go on. Shayne started thinking out loud, “See – I’m trying to figure out if this is a closed circuit or an open circuit.”

The sharp turn in their conversation had Damien blinking back his tears in confusion. “What – you know the difference?”

“If it’s closed, any wire I cut,” Shayne shrugged, “That’s it.”

“And if it’s open?”

“If it’s open…” Shayne parted the wires with careful fingers, “Some go boom, some don’t. You get the right one and the circuit’s over.”

Damien looked down at the wires. His breathing grew increasingly heavy as the timer ticked down.

“I’m assuming it’s open. That’s why I haven’t started cutting yet. The problem is…” Shayne took in all the colors before him and scratched his beard. Red. Blue. Purple. White. Green. Orange. Yellow. It was a whole fucking rainbow of death waiting to be snipped. “I’m not sure which is which.”

“They, uh – they not teach you that in your _EOD for Dummies_ class?” Damien’s choice of gallows’ humor got a soft chuckle from Shayne.

But along with the laugh came a ray of hope.

Shayne’s face hardened. “You said Lewis was attached to an EOD unit, right?”

“Yeah.”

“As in an Army EOD unit?”

Damien nodded, “Yeah, Army EOD for sure.”

Shayne blinked at the wires as the timer dipped down below the one-minute mark. The memories were coming back to him now.

“Those EOD guys are sticklers for routine and all that shit – they’re creatures of habit…” The wire cutters in Shayne’s hand trembled. “Whenever they setup a charge to take out an IED, it’s the same deal.”

“What’re you saying?”

“If Lewis setup this bomb like an EOD team would to make a charge to _destroy_ a bomb,” Shayne raised his eyebrows, motioning to the wires, “Then this is an open circuit with live wires and one safe wire to disarm the bomb. Those EOD teams always have one wire as a fallback if they need to disarm their charge. Lewis would put one if he needed to redo part of the circuit while arming the bomb.”

“Okay,” Damien blinked. Shayne’s own urgency was spreading to Damien. The fear in his eyes had returned, especially now that it was clear Shayne had no intention of leaving. “So which wire?”

“They had this stupid rhyme, like…” Shayne looked from wire to wire, as if for inspiration. They were down to their last thirty seconds.

There was the slightest pang in Shayne’s heart when he remembered. The words didn’t sound in his head from the voice of his instructor. They were from Lizzy. Because of course, Shayne taught her the rhyme and Nicole was not at all amused by it.

“When rigging up your explosives, remember blue speeds up the kaboom,” Shayne frowned as the words spilled out, “Red is as good as dead, but,” He laughed, “If you snip white, you’ll be alright.”

Shayne positioned the wire cutters right under the white wire leading into the phone. Damien watched in horror as the timer was approaching single digits.

“Shayne – no – you can’t be sure. The EOD unit Lewis was with couldn’t have been the same one that taught you,” Damien’s words slipped out fast, tumbling into each other. Panic in his voice rose, “Just get out of here, man. Just go, you don’t need to-”

“Hey,” Shayne leaned in. Damien’s eyes were snapping back and forth between the wire cutters and the timer on the phone. His breaths were shallow and sharp. The rapid rise and fall of his chest spurred Shayne on to act. He cupped Damien’s cheek, bringing his face up to meet his eyes. “Damien.”

“Shayne, just go.”

“Damien.”

There were few instances such as this in which Shayne was completely prepared to lay his life down. Whether for Courtney or a brother-in-arms, there was a brief feeling of serenity that washed over him.

“It’s just you and me, brother.”

Damien’s fearful eyes searched Shayne’s for any shred of doubt. He had no way of knowing what secrets could be read from his own eyes. Shayne leaned forward to press his forehead to Damien’s, while his hand slid down to his neck.

The timer was down to five seconds.

“Come on, just you and me, Dames.”

With a deep breath and a wince, Shayne snipped the white wire.

There was a deafening silence around them.

The complete lack of explosion elicited a heavy sigh from Damien. Shayne laughed, almost hysterically. He pounded Damien’s chest lightly as he chuckled in relief, taking in their victory and the crisis they averted. Shayne pulled his head back to grin at Damien, who sported a small but incredibly relieved smile.

But with the present threat dealt with, it only meant it was time for Shayne to tackle the next pressing matter.

Courtney was in imminent danger.

The dread he’d locked away came racing back to the forefront of his being. The urge to vomit on the spot had to be suppressed.

Damien clocked Shayne’s rapid shift in mood. “Just cut me loose and I’ll handle the rest.”

The question was on Shayne’s tongue even as he moved to free Damien of his bindings. “Handle it? How will you _handle_ this?”

Shayne crouched down to snip the cable ties keeping Damien’s hands together, now with no care for the wires he may nick in the process. He let out a soft grunt and rubbed at his sore wrists once they were free. “I’ll call the cops, tell them I tried to talk Lewis down. Got my ass beat and tied up. Woke up, shimmied over to the table to grab the wire cutters and saved myself.”

Shayne stared at Damien with no shortage of doubt. “You really think they’ll believe that?”

“Well,” Damien shrugged, “It’s better than implicating you. I’ll tell them I was ex-military. That’ll be enough for them. Now toss me my leg and get out of here.”

Shayne didn’t put up an argument. As much as he’d like to spend time bulletproofing Damien’s story, he had to haul ass. He crossed the room to retrieve the discarded prosthetic. He bent down to help Damien secure the straps, only for Damien to shoo him off with a wave.

“I got this, man. Go get Courtney.”

Despite the swollen face and bruised ego, Damien’s resolve and steel had returned. Shayne drew courage from his best friend’s determination. He nodded, slowly at first, as he stepped back away from Damien.

“Don’t go easy on him, Shayne.” Damien’s frown spoke of the harsh lesson learned. “Do what you have to do.”

And Shayne would.

He fled the house in a hurry now that Damien was safe. He kept his head low and made a beeline for his parked car. Shayne was stomping on the gas pedal the moment the engine veered to life. He was multitasking as he drove in a mad rush to the Royal Hospitality. In the cramped space of the driver’s seat, there wasn’t much room to maneuver. More than once, he knocked his hand into the rearview mirror, misaligning it. But after a great deal of effort, Shayne strapped the bulletproof vest to his body.

One of the first courses of action was to call Courtney to get her to flee the scene. As luck would have it, his calls were going straight to voicemail. Shayne cursed so hard that he felt a tug on his stitches – because naturally when things could go wrong, everything went wrong. Everything that could be stacked against him _would_ be stacked against him. The stitches that were still healing were just another annoying hindrance in his race to get to Courtney. Since she was unreachable, he’d need to get into the building himself.

Shayne contorted to reach his coat in the backseat. After nearly rear-ending the car in front of him, he successfully moved the coat over to the passenger seat. He aggressively overtook the cars ahead, counterflowing into oncoming traffic on several occasions. The near accidents were countless as Shayne sped towards the hotel block by block.

Shayne was cataloguing his options and forming his plan on the fly. There was no telling what stage of the attack was ongoing by the time he arrived. Lewis could still be setting up, or he could be in the thick of things – whatever that may be. It could be a bombing or an assassination up close and person. Shayne was betting on both.

With that in mind, he couldn’t march in with the small armory he had in the backseat. He could look like a madman running around the hotel, but it was better if he did so without a rifle or a shotgun in hand. His best bet was to keep his coat concealing his vest, and push in with the pistol tucked in. It would be enough. He had to make it enough.

The fallout of the attack was the next point for consideration. Shayne’s hands tightened around the wheel as he jerked it to one side, avoiding an oncoming car. He ignored the driver’s furious honking as he sped on ahead. If he saved –

No.

When he saved Courtney and dealt with Lewis, he needed to make himself scarce. The police and probably the FBI would be at the scene the moment bullets started flying. Exiting the way he came would be disastrous. The feds and the police recognizing him was the last thing he needed.

Shayne scoffed to himself at the thought. As if he wouldn’t be ID’d sooner by anyone else inside the building.

There was no way he was getting out of this without his identity being blown. The only consolation he had was the coat’s hood, but it wasn’t exactly a foolproof mask.

It wasn’t important though. Getting to Courtney was.

Identity be damned. He could skip town and get in touch with Lieberman for one final favor. Shayne was ready to do what he had to do in order to keep Courtney safe and away from his bullshit. Even if it killed him.

Shayne could make out the hotel several buildings away. There were no police forming a perimeter around the building. No smoke billowing from the windows.

There was some relief that Shayne could draw from the fact he wasn’t too late _yet_. Though with how traffic was going, he may as well have served Courtney up to Lewis on a silver platter. It drove Shayne to make the tactical decision to haphazardly park his car a few buildings away. In his haste, the side may have been sticking out a tad bit. Knowing his luck, he’d probably get a ticket – along with the other dozen traffic violations he committed on the way to the hotel.

But all those were the last things on Shayne’s mind. He had to hustle, and he had to do it now. With his coat zipped up despite the warm spring weather, he jumped out of the driver’s seat. His eyes were fixed upward, towards the building he parked next to. It was a mid-class apartment complex which hopefully had rooftop access. If not, he could just break a bone or two bailing from the roof after escaping the hotel.

Shayne pulled his hood up and circled to the backseat. He extracted the heavy duffel containing Schoonover’s zipline kit – the incredibly unsafe final gambit he was saving for when this was all over. He heaved the bag over his shoulder and locked the car. Without further delay, he ran for all he was worth. Every second he spent was another second Courtney was in danger. Upon reaching the hotel corner, he rounded towards the side. The front door was out of the question – he couldn’t get his gun or his vest past security. It was easy finding the service entrance though. It was watched by a single overweight security guard. Thankfully, no Paladin security agents were in sight for now.

There was no time for a diplomatic solution. Shayne charged forward, decking the man in the face. His head snapped back against the door, and Shayne took that time to grab his ID. With a swipe by the card reader, the door unlocked with a click. Shayne tossed the man to the ground, who landed roughly on his arms and knees. The guard didn’t have time to so much as look Shayne’s way before he disappeared behind the door.

His boots pounded the grimy tile floor as he barreled forward. The urgency and alarm were rising within Shayne by the moment. Everyone was carrying on like there wasn’t a crazed bomber in the building. Shayne shoved past storage clerks and cooks alike. His eyes were wild, searching for the stairs. Elevator cams and private security needed to be avoided. The stairs were his best bet.

A hand landed on his shoulder and Shayne shrugged it off with a snarl. Their protests fell on deaf ears as he broke free from the small crowd of alarmed hotel service staff. Shayne ran past an industrial-sized freezer, crashing through a pair of double doors to exit the sizeable kitchen. He skidded to a stop by an open and vacant service elevator. There was no better place to store the bag, so Shayne took his chances. He pushed the rucksack through the maintenance hatch and onto the elevator’s roof.

Shayne was back to sprinting and dropping people to the ground as he ran. Bellboys, waiters, the head chef himself – they were all knocked to the side as he barreled through them like a battering ram. There were cries to call for security to stop him from causing any more trouble – Shayne heard a couple of radios being pulled out to alert Paladin. He ignored them all as he zeroed in on the stairs, throwing the door open as he did.

His legs propelled him up the steps two at a time. As he climbed, he pulled his phone from his pocket to double check Courtney’s last text to him – the room number the interview was being held in.

“Fuck,” Shayne muttered aloud as he ran up the steps. Fifteen more floors to go.

He had to keep moving.

He had to get to Courtney.

By the tenth floor, his lungs were burning up and he was sweating buckets, prompting him to unzip his coat. His legs were ready to cramp. With labored breaths he sprinted up the steps, taking them two or three at a time. His boots would occasionally catch the edge of a step, overshooting in his mad dash. His knees and his shins would crash into the unforgiving edges of the stairs. Pain radiated through his legs as he pulled himself back upright and resumed his climb. Shayne steadied himself against the wall as he ran, nearly smashing open a fire cabinet by accident at one point.

He wasn’t moving fast enough.

He could never move fast enough.

He growled under his breath, breathing through his nose and pushing himself to _keep going_. He was nearly there. Just a few more floors.

Shayne paused for just a second as he neared the thirteenth floor. Two bodies with Paladin windbreakers were lying in a heap on the landing. Splatters of blood and brain stained the wall with a sickly red. Shayne threw himself back into the task of scaling the stairs. He tugged his gun free from his holster as the bile rose all the way up to the back of his mouth.

He was moments away. He needed to move it. He needed to get to Courtney before –

An explosion from several floors up rocked the ground. Shayne’s insides stirred from the concussive blast wave. His heart stopped as the panic overwhelmed him.

He was too late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Dear oh dear, aren't we in quite the pickle? Stay tuned for the next update. You can drop your fondness (or probably disdain) for my cliffhangers in the comments below :P
> 
> Shayne and Damien's brotherly love is one of the things I was really happy to include and try to nail down in this story. This chapter should cement it, because I feel like I may have undersold just how much Damien means to Shayne in the previous chapters. I hope you enjoyed my take on this. I'll catch you guys at the next update. Have a good one now.


	39. I Will Come For You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Courtney finds herself at the center of an explosive predicament. Shayne keeps a promise.

Courtney was never the biggest fan of stringent and uncompromising private security firms. Paladin was no exception. Courtney eyeballed the man before her. He was barely distinguishable from the rest of the guards, sans windbreaker – neat hair parted, button-down freshly pressed, and pistol tucked into the holster on his hip. His hand was extended towards her, waiting for her to surrender her gun and her phone. He’d stopped her mere seconds after she exited the elevator.

When Courtney’s hesitation hung in the air for a moment longer, the man smiled in an attempt to break the ice. “The anti-gun senator being interviewed by the journalist with a concealed carry permit.” He shrugged, hand still hanging in the air, “Life is full of little ironies.”

“The same anti-gun senator that hired you guys to protect him,” Courtney glanced at the nearby Paladin security agent toting a submachinegun.

“We’ve convinced Senator Ori to think of us like insurance. If something comes up, he’ll be glad we’re here. If not – well, it pays to be careful.”

When the man still didn’t hang up his hand, Courtney sighed. She fished into her bag to hand him her phone. As she turned in her gun, she took a stern tone, “I expect to get that back when this is over.”

The man nodded, “I’ll make sure you get these back once you’re done here, Ms. Miller.”

Finally, Courtney surrendered her trusty .380. The man accepted the weapon with a polite smile and led her over to the senator’s suite. They walked along the carpeted hallways as Courtney took in the sights. The hotel was a real turn of the century type of building. The subtly patterned wallpapers, ornate lamps, and rustic paintings lent a certain charm and class to the Royal Hospitality.

They came to a stop in front of a set of double doors. The man excused himself before slipping into the suite, leaving Courtney waiting in the hallway.

Shayne had departed some time ago. Things on his end could be a bloody mess or a smashing success. Maybe he’d humor her with a little status report if she asked nicely.

Courtney’s hand dipped into her purse in a habitual manner. She pawed for the phone that wasn’t there. There was a short tug on her heartstrings – the clarity that her lifeline to Shayne had been taken from her.

Courtney frowned and avoided the curious eyes of the two Paladin guards who stood on either side of the door.

Shayne could be in the middle of a shootout with Lewis and she wouldn’t be finding out about it until much later. He could be bleeding to death in some alley. The same went for Damien, who’d gotten to O’Connor’s house first. For all she knew, he was wounded – or worse. And Shayne could be next.

Courtney swallowed down the anxiety and heartache.

Shayne was the toughest person Courtney had ever met, and he would vouch for Damien until the end of his days. The two of them together would be an unstoppable duo. They were fine. They had to be.

They were probably hogtying Lewis and getting ready to drop him off for the police at this very moment.

She had nothing to worry about.

Courtney repeated this until she could almost believe what she was telling herself.

Thankfully, the doors to the suite finally opened, allowing her entry. The man who’d taken her gun ushered her in before stepping out. With a deep breath, Courtney did her best to compartmentalize. She could worry about Shayne and Damien later.

The senator’s expansive suite was as lavish as Courtney had expected it to be. The entry opened up to a large living room with numerous plush sofas and a few armchairs. Two Paladin security agents stood guard. The room was well-lit, thanks to the hanging lights above, and the table lamps throughout the room. The well-furnished space branched off to the right, likely leading to the bedroom. Courtney’s flats – not heels, since she wanted to be prepared to run – padded along the carpet as Senator Ori appeared from the other room.

The senator was dressed in a sharp suit, similar to yesterday. All cameras were going to be on him downstairs, and he needed to look the part. The event may have been a fundraiser for victims of the bombings, but it was shaping up to be a gala that was posh as all hell. Courtney thought she looked good in her blouse and pencil skirt, but the socialites downstairs were putting her to shame. She may as well have shown up in a hoodie, a pair of tattered leggings, and beat up sneakers.

Courtney felt it was appropriate for someone as lowkey sleezy as the senator. The families of those affected by Lewis’ bombings may be benefitting from the event, but Senator Ori was benefitting just as much – if not more. All the publicity and good boy points he was earning were far more than just a happy coincidence. It was an obvious and deliberate choice by him and his PR team.

She had to put on a polite smile as Senator Ori extended a handshake to her.

“Courtney, it’s good to see you again,” The senator beamed.

“Senator,” Courtney hoped the smile wasn’t too obviously fake. “How are you?”

Senator Ori ushered her over to the wide array of seats. Courtney settled for an armchair, while the senator sat across from her on the sofa. He clasped his hands together as he answered, “I’m holding up well enough. This fundraiser is exactly what we all need right now.”

Courtney pulled out her trusty notepad and clicked her pen. With an inquisitive brow, she asked, “How so?”

“It’s simple, Courtney,” Senator Ori flashed his poster-worthy smile. “This Lewis Wilson called us out personally. This is how we stand up to him in defiance.”

Courtney pursed her lips for a beat. She couldn’t resist prodding at how much he had to gain from an event like this. “It’s just a happy coincidence that the people in attendance downstairs are all supporters for your campaign?”

The senator lifted his hands up in a placating gesture. His smile never faltered as he clarified, “This isn’t for my campaign. The funds raised are for the families of the victims of the bombings. Rest assured, I’m not touching a cent of that.”

Courtney conceded, to keep the senator from raising his guard too high. The benefits he gained from this were purely political – in the form of connections to be made or strengthened. “Fair enough.”

“And of course, this is money that shouldn’t even _need_ to be raised,” The senator began his spiel, “If there weren’t victims of this senseless violence.”

“Of course,” Courtney put on her best polite smile. The senator was about to go on his little rant, so she reminded him, “But a gun is just a tool, isn’t it, senator? That can’t be the only source of the problem.”

“I couldn’t agree more. But,” Senator Ori tilted his head and gave a rehearsed analogy, “You can’t give a six-year-old a chainsaw.”

Courtney huffed a soft laugh and made a short note of that. It was an amusing quote to include in her article, if nothing else.

Their discussion went on as the minutes ticked by. They wound up talking about Lewis Wilson, and how Courtney had felt being personally called out. The senator was ever the people pleaser as he commended her bravery for sticking up for what she believed in. Courtney had planned on keeping Shayne out of her mind for the duration of the talk – simply to keep herself focused – but unfortunately Senator Ori had other plans.

“Courtney, I hope you don’t mind me asking this…” Senator Ori rested his arms on his legs, hands clasped together.

“What’s that, senator?”

“What did you see in The Punisher?” The senator tilted his head in curiosity.

Courtney blinked in surprise. She crossed her legs and cleared her throat. The answer came as she tapped the back of her pen against her leg. “I saw a husband who lost his wife. A father who lost his daughter. And a war hero whose country turned its back on him.”

“A lot of people think he deserved the electric chair,” Senator Ori mused.

“Well,” Courtney scoffed, “A lot of people think he did this city a favor, too.”

“An even split,” Senator Ori admitted. “I understand you sympathized with him.”

“Sympathized,” Courtney nodded. “But that doesn’t mean I agreed with his actions. Just like how I disagree with Lewis Wilson’s bombings.”

The senator studied her for a moment, thumbs brushing against one another. He leaned back and posed the idea, “Imagine if Shayne Topp hadn’t gotten his hands on illegal firearms – what do you think he would’ve done?”

Courtney shrugged. “He would’ve found some other way to kick ass.”

Senator Ori laughed at her candor but shook his head, “What if instead of massacring those criminals, he waited for the justice system to do its job?”

“Senator, in a perfect world – that would be great. Hell, in a perfect world, Shayne wouldn’t have lost his family to begin with,” Courtney’s voice had the slightest bitterness to it. “But this isn’t a perfect world. The people behind that conspiracy ran as high up as New York’s District Attorney, and a colonel in the Marine Corps.” Her eyes studied the senator, who had grown quiet as he listened. “And I’m sure you’re aware, but gun control and a better justice system aren’t mutually exclusive.”

The senator acknowledged her point with a nod. He gestured to her as he said, “Although less guns would certainly make the justice system’s job easier. Wouldn’t you say?”

Courtney scribbled on her notepad as she retorted, “Rhetoric and reality are worlds apart, senator.”

Senator Ori hummed in consideration before asking, “You’re a gun owner, right?”

“Yes. Fully licensed and known to the NYPD. What gave it away?” Courtney couldn’t bite back the smirk. Their exchange the previous day when he mistakenly looked to her for help was still fresh in her mind.

To his credit, he laughed. “Courtney, I think I misread you when we first met. But I can see now that you’re the type of woman that takes matters into her own hands. Is that why you’re a gun owner?”

When he said it like that, he painted the picture of some pistol-packing badass who shot first and asked questions later. Reality was much more mundane and laden with trauma. Courtney obliged him with a simple answer. “Let’s call it personal safety. I’ve been in some bad spots. I wouldn’t be caught dead in those same spots without a way of defending myself. Not again.”

Senator Ori’s shoulder bobbed with a slight shrug, “I think society should be able to provide that.”

Courtney pointedly looked over at the two armed guards standing closer to the door. She then turned her gaze to Senator Ori. The irony wasn’t lost on him. He raised his hands in mock surrender before leaning forward once more.

Senator Ori gesticulated as he spoke, “The regulations I’m pushing aren’t about taking some guns away from all people. Contrary to popular belief, I do respect the second amendment,” The senator ignored her doubtful look as he continued without pause, “The regulations are about taking all guns away from certain people.”

Courtney threw the senator a bone and prodded him to continue. “Do you really think that’s possible?”

Senator Ori spread his arms. He wore the smile of a man who knew of the challenge ahead but was ready to face it – whether thanks to his ignorance or his bravery was anyone’s guess.

“Well, I have to, Courtney.”

There was a flash of light, an unrelenting concussive wave, and an earsplitting boom.

In the time it took Courtney to blink, she found herself staring up at the ceiling. The once bright and calm room was dark as smoke wafted in the air. The shrill sound of the fire alarm competed with the ringing in her ears. She could taste the bitterness of the smoke in the confined space. A dull pain on the side of her head began to register. It knocked her out of the initial stupor.

This was it.

This was the attack they’d been waiting for.

Despite the rapid thundering of Courtney’s heart against her ribcage, a sense of calm washed over her. It wasn’t enough to dull the sense of panic that was filling up within her and ready to burst. But it was enough to grant her just a bit of clarity of mind. Her hands trembled as they ran over her body to check for injuries – none – and then to her head, where she found a shallow cut from hitting God knows what.

She was alive. Her limbs were working.

Courtney had to make do.

She put her survival instincts to use as she stayed low to the ground and rolled onto her arms and knees. Courtney squinted through the thick haze stinging her eyes. She coughed as the damned acrid smoke assailed her lungs.

There was a cacophony of activity that she could make out through the ringing in her ears. A gun – suppressed – discharged once – and then again. Two audible, hefty thuds resounded in the suite, and that was the end of their security detail.

Courtney stayed in cover behind the sofa. She didn’t dare peek her head out to survey the scene. She didn’t need to see Lewis murdering the Paladins to know it was him. She had to get armed and then get out of dodge. Her purse was mere feet away, and she busied herself crawling towards it as fast as possible.

Then, there was Senator Ori’s voice, “No, no, no, please – no!”

Courtney slung her bag over one shoulder and risked a peek at the action. The senator was on his knees, pleading for his life in front of Lewis. He was wearing a zipped-up Paladin jacket along with a gas mask for the smoke. He drove his boot into the senator’s face. The man stumbled back with a cry of pain. He scrambled around one of the sofas and continued to beg, “Please – don’t kill me!”

Her hands plunged into her bag on instinct. The absence of the cool, comforting grip of her .380 made her heart stutter.

“Fuck,” Courtney hissed as the realization dawned on her. In the panic, she’d completely forgotten about that idiot who confiscated her gun.

To make matters worse, the sound of Senator Ori’s arms and knees on the carpet were growing louder. He was fumbling over her way while he continued babbling out his pleas for mercy. “Please don’t kill me! Killing me won’t get you what you want!”

As the senator was about to round the sofa and bump into her, Courtney was forced to reveal herself. Lewis wasn’t close enough to try and grapple. If she tried to grab his gun while this far away, she’d be dead before she got up on her feet. On her knees, she extended her arms out in surrender.

The sudden movement caused Lewis’ aim to snap towards her. His wild eyes widened, as if surprised to actually find both his targets in one spot. His gun swayed between Courtney and Senator Ori.

With shallow breaths, Courtney pleaded. “Don’t shoot him. Please, don’t shoot.”

Senator Ori’s once proud face was twisted in terror as he cried and begged, “Please don’t do this!”

Courtney stared up the barrel of the gun and right at Lewis. His finger rested on the trigger guard. Through the glass of his gasmask, Courtney could see his dark eyes flitting between his two targets, unable to make the decision.

She couldn’t tell what he was feeling – overwhelmed by having his two quarries here and ripe for the picking? Overjoyed? Conflicted?

The only feelings Courtney could dissect were her own. The void within the muzzle of Lewis’ suppressed pistol was glaring down at her. Through the dread, terror, and panic that all swirled within her, she couldn’t help but remember the last time she’d been on her knees, unarmed and expecting death. The overpowering horror of being confronted with her own mortality as Shayne disarmed her of her own gun in that hospital stairwell.

There were no tears clouding her vision this time. She wasn’t too tongue-tied to plead. She wasn’t a shuddering, whimpering mess of a woman.

Courtney supposed it was because the feeling that stood out above the turmoil was sadness. It crushed her to think – even for a second – how Shayne would feel when he found her lifeless body. She’d never even gotten to tell him she loved him.

The thought was strong enough to keep the tears from flowing. To prevent her throat from seizing up. To plead, if only to buy her a little more time to think of something to get out of this.

“Please,” Courtney looked up at Lewis through the visor of his mask, “Please don’t do this. We can work this out, Lewis.”

Her big mouth apparently was enough to make her the priority target.

Lewis turned the gun towards her, and his finger slid off the trigger guard.

There was the sound of rushing footsteps, and a black blur filled her vision. The sharp snap of the suppressed pistol filled the air.

Three shots rang out, but none of them pierced her body.

Instead, the dark silhouette of Shayne goddamn Topp himself was up on one knee in front of her. He tried to steady himself with one hand as he hissed in pain. In his other hand, he swung his gun forward just as Lewis discharged another round.

Shayne let out a harsh exhale as the bullet flattened against his vest. His own bullet cracked into the wall behind Lewis as his aim was thrown off. It forced Lewis to backpedal away from them towards the other side of the room.

Courtney wanted to cry. She wanted to kiss Shayne too.

Both had to wait.

Playing hero and joining Shayne would only distract him. She had to make herself useful and get out and get help. Shayne could deal with this.

Courtney grabbed Senator Ori by the arm and tugged him forward, “Come on! Let’s go!”

They scrambled towards the door – now a gaping, smoldering hole in the wall. They made it all of four feet before Courtney risked a glance back.

Shayne was gritting his teeth through the pain. With one arm on a shelf, he was struggling to pull himself up. The other held his gun. It came up to aim at Lewis, but Shayne wasn’t fast enough. Lewis’ suppressed pistol let out an audible snap. There was a spray of crimson from Shayne’s head as he twisted and hit the ground.

Courtney’s heart stopped.

Her breath caught in her throat, even as she continued moving on autopilot. One hand shoved Senator Ori to take cover by an armchair as Lewis swiveled to aim at them. The other reached for a deceased Paladin agent’s gun.

For several long moments, Courtney could hear nothing but the murderous pounding of her heart, and her own shuddering breaths. She was only aware Lewis was shooting at them because of the heat in the air that whizzed overhead as Courtney ducked down behind cover.

Her swift hands flicked the safety off and tugged the slide back by half an inch.

It was loaded.

With a breath, Courtney peeled from cover and unleashed hell.

She tugged back on the trigger with all her wrath. The pistol barked in reply to Lewis, spitting lead out and sending brass casings into the air.

She wanted to scream. To curse. To yell until people halfway across the world could hear her anguish.

Furious tears welled in her vision as her aim betrayed her. The cowardly form of that bastard dived for cover as her bullets struck the wall behind him. The most she’d gotten was a graze or two along his arm.

The gall. The fucking nerve of this asshole to hide from her.

Courtney stood up, gun pointed and ready. She took her first stride forward, fully intent on rounding Lewis’ cover and emptying her gun into his chest.

Then another pistol cracked a shot in Lewis direction.

Courtney’s head snapped to the source.

Shayne was clutching his temple, which was bleeding heavily. He trained his gun on the sofa Lewis hid behind and sent a few more rounds out to keep him suppressed. His gaze snapped towards her once, looking at her as if she was insane. “Go!”

Courtney didn’t have time to process the relief. Only the command.

“C’mon!” Courtney stuffed the gun into her purse and then tugged at Senator Ori’s arm. They began to cross the living room, towards the exit into the hallway.

Lewis moved as they did. Shayne – still gritting his teeth and shambling – fired another round. It splintered the wood of a nearby shelf but did no harm. Courtney’s eyes widened as she and the senator found themselves dangerously close to Lewis once more.

A pair of hands on her back sealed her fate.

Courtney stumbled forward as Senator Ori made a break for the hallway. The gun came up once more, but this time she was ready.

Courtney grabbed Lewis’ pistol with both hands as her foot shot up. Her aim was off, and she hit more inner thigh than groin, but it was enough to distract Lewis. Her grip on the gun shifted to apply leverage to his arm, and her hip shot into place against his.

With a pull and a twist, Courtney sent Lewis flying over her shoulder and crashing onto the ground. His gun clattered uselessly to the side. Courtney held onto his arm and was about to kneel on his face when he tugged his jacket open with his free hand.

The bomb vest made Courtney freeze for just a moment.

That moment was all Lewis needed.

It happened faster than Courtney could process it. Lewis was back on his feet, one arm wrapped around her neck. The other was clutching a detonator wired to his vest. His thumb was depressing the button as he turned them to face Shayne. He held his gun with both hands now, aimed just off angle of them. The blood had stained his dirty blonde hair and was dripping down the side of his face.

“Drop the gun!” Lewis yelled, “This is a dead man’s switch! If I let this go, everybody dies!”

Yet another wave of dread rippled through Courtney. A part of her had planned on just throwing him over her shoulder again but this time pinning him. The dead man’s switch complicated things. Her heart bounced against her ribcage, begging for release like an animal in a cage. As the ringing in her ears subsided, it only made her acutely aware of Lewis’ shuddering breaths.

“You don’t need her, Lewis,” Shayne growled the warning in between breathless pants. He kept the gun trained down as he advanced with cautious steps. Lewis dragged her backwards and out of the smoldering room, into the hallway.

The smoke here was less thick, allowing her lungs a brief reprieve. Courtney grabbed hold of Lewis’ arm for balance as they bumped into a wall. It was then she noticed the other fallen Paladin security agents.

Shayne continued to approach with slow, predatory steps. He walked as though every muscle in his body was coiled, ready to strike and eviscerate his prey.

Lewis tugged his gasmask off, letting it drop to the carpeted floor. He tugged on Courtney as they continued backing down the hallway as she was powerless to stop him. It was in their best interest that she did as directed. One wrong move and he let go of that detonator – that was the end of them all.

As Shayne stepped into the light of the hazy hallway, she got a good look at him for the first time. His dark hooded coat was open, revealing the haunting visage of the Punisher’s skull on his vest. His hair and beard were matted red as the graze on his temple continued to trickle blood. Despite the menace in his steps, Courtney could detect a slight limp paired with his dour grimace. He was in a lot of pain.

Lewis held out the detonator threateningly as they shuffled back. Shayne transitioned from passively aiming the gun off angle to raising his hands up in a show of compliance.

“Just let her go, Lewis.”

“Put the gun down!” Lewis shouted. Courtney stumbled with a gasp as he shoved her forward to make his point. The detonator hovered inches from her face as he barked, “You want her dead? Stay back! Get back!”

As Lewis periodically glanced over his shoulder, Shayne reluctantly holstered his gun. But he didn’t slow his threatening advance.

Courtney steadied her shallow, frantic gasps with slow breaths. It was all she could do in her vain attempt to stay calm in the middle of the fucking hostage situation she found herself in.

They’d made it all the way back to the elevators at this point. One had been kept open and waiting for them. Courtney assumed Lewis had gone through the trouble of setting that up as well for his escape plan.

Shayne’s hard frown was glaring at them all the way until Lewis’ back hit the elevator wall. He was forced to stop a good distance away as the detonator was brandished in his direction.

His stormy eyes snapped between Courtney and Lewis. The fire and brimstone in his steely scowl matched the gravel in his voice as he uttered out a single sentence.

“I will come for you.”

To Lewis, it was a threat.

To Courtney, it was a reassurance. It was his promise just a day ago. In spite of it all, the cool feeling of relief soothed her burning nerves. Even in Lewis’ clutches, Courtney was safe.

Shayne kept his promises.

Courtney held Shayne’s gaze the entire time as the elevator doors slowly came to a shut.

* * *

He never did have enough time.

Before Shayne’s soul-searching road trip, he always felt as though his relationship with Courtney was built around powerful, fleeting moments. They were inexplicably emotional and heavier than anything, but also abrupt. There was never a chance to process the heavy things together – the fight in Rikers, the precinct shootout, Schoonover taking her hostage – they were forced to live in those terrifying, emotional moments however briefly. Then they’d be ripped from each other, whether by his own doing or external forces.

Lewis disappearing into the elevator with Courtney as his hostage felt a little like one of those moments.

As soon as the doors shut, another set of elevator doors opened.

Shayne didn’t stick around to meet and greet the team of Paladins who were about to spill out of that elevator.

He tugged his hood back up and made a sprint for the stairs. He was forced to bite his lip to deal with his nearly spasming legs and burning lungs. The only recovery time he’d had from the stairs was getting shot in the chest. And now Courtney was –

Shayne let out a harsh exhale and focused on crossing the long hallway to reach the stairs.

“Hey! Stop!” A voice called.

Nobody would look at his blood splattered face, bulletproof vest, tight scowl, and believe he was here to stop the bomber. They would all assume he was an accomplice of some sort. Explaining himself would be suicide

Confirmation came in a hail of gunfire that cracked and snapped dangerously close. Shayne kept his throbbing head low as he ran for the stairs as fast as his aching legs would carry him. The bullets were splintering the walls and kicking up dust in the carpet mere inches away. The audible pop in his ears was a grim indicator of their sights being zeroed in.

The fallen body of a Paladin guard offered another risky move. He was running out of time and options. Every second he delayed was another second in which Courtney was alone with Lewis.

The air left Shayne’s lungs as bullets slammed into the back of his vest. Searing pain joined the sensation as several rounds grazed his body and drew blood. The decision was made for him.

Shayne tucked his body into a ball and allowed the force of the bullets to take him down. He rolled onto the fallen corpse, gripping it by the pants leg and a fistful of shirt by the shoulder. Shayne landed on one knee, lifting the body up in a fireman’s carry. He hissed in pain as a few of the stitches along his torso ripped open. Shayne bit his lip hard enough to draw blood. He adjusted his grip on the body as rounds dug into it with wet squishes.

“Stop!”

Shayne ignored the command and threw himself forward onto his feet. The gunfire continued to pepper the hall as Shayne’s human shield took the brunt of the damage. He took breath in with quick, sharp inhales and released them with explosive exhales – flooding his body with the oxygen it desperately needed to push on.

He tugged his gun free from his holster with one hand. It would cement his guilt in the eyes of Paladin and probably the public, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was keeping them at bay as he ran with nearly two hundred pounds of dead weight on his back. Shayne twisted his body to point the gun down the hall. He squeezed the trigger in short bursts to slow their advance and keep them from shooting. They were just doing their job – fucking poorly, though – and didn’t need to die for that.

Shayne’s suppressive fire was enough to break the storm of bullets plunging into his human shield. As he rounded the corner, he reached the stairs. Shayne ditched the body with far less ceremony than the man probably deserved. He could deal with that extra stain on his conscience another day.

Lewis had rigged that elevator to stay open and wait for him to carry out the attack. It meant his escape route was downstairs, but that didn’t narrow it down in and of itself.

The ground floor was going to be suicide. NYPD was going to be swarming that floor. Lewis may put a dent in the force by setting his bomb off with all of them present, but Shayne’s gut told him that wasn’t the case. Lewis had lost the initiative the moment Shayne dived in front of those bullets to save Courtney. He was now reacting and on the retreat. If Shayne had been caught in Lewis’ position, feeling as turbulent as he was, he would probably need a second to think.

There was no way he was going to one of the lower levels – escaping by car was out of the question. The NYPD would be cordoning off all vehicle exits. That would force Lewis to stick to the ground floor, but perhaps not the main lobby. He’d gravitate towards an area he could regain control of his spiraling operation. That left the staff areas. If Lewis wanted to turn this into a full-blown hostage situation, then he’d want to stay somewhere he had supplies. The kitchen and storerooms would be his best bet.

Shayne had no way of knowing if his deductive work was solid, but it was all he had. It felt far more likely than standing in front of the full force of the NYPD with Courtney as his hostage. Lewis didn’t have the stones for that. He was a coward.

The decision was made in the split second it took for Shayne to barrel through the door leading to the stairs. On impact, the door slammed into another Paladin agent, sending him tumbling down the steps to the next landing.

The stomping of footsteps both above and below forced Shayne to act. He had no way to go but right through them.

Shayne holstered his pistol and skipped down the steps towards the guard recovering from the fall. With a roar, he drove his knee into the man’s face, knocking him out cold. Shayne’s boots skidded on the rough tiles as he turned and resumed his mad dash. He took steps three or four at a time before skipping off to the next landing. He ducked as a shot cracked out, missing his head by inches. All caution was thrown to the wind when Shayne leapt from his landing all the way to the next – and right at the guard aiming at him.

The ballistic plates absorbed two more rounds as he felt his chest deflate. He lost his poise in the air, and simply crashed right into the Paladin. Shayne’s elbow smashed into his face, knocking him back into the wall. The air having left his body from the concussive impact of the bullets, Shayne crumpled right along with him. Together, they rolled down the steps to the next landing. They grunted and gasped as the steps dug into their vulnerable bodies. The guard’s gun clattered to the side as they fell, and that was good enough for Shayne. He got up on a knee, only for the guard to try and grapple him.

Shayne swung his fist back, bloodying the guard’s nose. It bought him the time to straighten up and pummel his boot into the Paladin’s ribs. The guard howled in pain and curled into a ball. Shayne was already continuing his run as guards from above began to pour out. Bullets whizzed close, chipping stone as they missed Shayne.

The occasional passerby would be throwing a door open as Shayne passed. They hardly paid him any mind as they were so focused on their own self-preservation. Shayne worried they’d be caught in the line of fire. At the same time, he hoped it meant Paladin would be less trigger happy in their pursuit of him, the apparent accomplice to Lewis’ attack.

He was panting furiously as he ran. The blood dribbling down the side of his head was still going. At the moment, Shayne had an inkling it felt worse than it was. He was lightheaded and trembling, but that was from the exhaustion and the terror coursing through his veins. If it were because of the blood loss, he’d be tipping over to one side and unable to stick the landing each time he jumped the last few steps. He steadied himself against the wall as he jumped and ran anyway. Just in case.

Predictably, his luck ran out sooner rather than later. As Shayne crashed into another wall, landing between two floors, more Paladins arrived. Doors swung open both above and below, and the agents came in, pistols drawn. They hadn’t seen him fleeing the scene, so they weren’t inclined to shoot first and ask questions later.

But he still had wide, deranged eyes, a bleeding head, and a vest with the long-dead Punisher’s skull painted on it.

“Don’t move!” The guard from the upper floor approached him with a little too much bravado.

The second guard from the lower floor drew closer with more hesitation. With a waver in his voice, eyes glued to the vest, he ordered, “Stay where you are, man!”

The first guard entered striking range. He looked at the vest as well, face twisted in confusion. “Who the fuck are you? A copycat?”

Shayne blinked once and blurted out in question, “Yeah?”

He twisted his body away from the gun, grabbing the guard’s hand. Shayne mustered all the dread and panic that boiled within him. He channeled it into the hand he stuck in the guard’s hair before smashing his face into the wall.

“Hey!” The second Paladin agent took another step closer, prompting Shayne to swing his foot forward. His boot crashed up into the man’s sternum. He let out a wet cough, dropping onto the rough stairs.

Shayne reaped the first guard’s leg, sending him back-first into the stairs as well. It allowed Shayne to rip the gun from his hands. He hopped over the second guard, who groaned as he tried to get up. Shayne took the time to flick his wrist, ejecting the magazine across the stairwell. Shayne cleared the chamber before dropping the gun onto the floor.

Before he could resume his sprint in earnest, the door at the next landing swung open. Two more Paladin guards, toting submachineguns, entered the fray.

It was times like this Shayne wished he were the psychopath some people made him out to be. God knew it would be easier blasting skulls open and going about his business.

Shayne plowed right through them, lacking the mental aptitude to think of anything smarter. The first guard caught Shayne’s elbow with his face. The momentum sent them tumbling down the steps in a mess of tangled limbs. It was like something out of a cartoon, plus the incredibly high stakes.

The submachinegun discharged, spewing lead up into the ceiling and pummeling the walls. Dust and concrete chips rained down on Shayne and the guard as they struggled to get their bearings.

“Stop! Get down on the ground!”

The man Shayne hadn’t struck was on the landing. His stance was squared, and his gun was trained on them. Shayne ignored him completely. The guard wouldn’t risk shooting his buddy in close quarters. So, he focused on the man trying to bring him back to the ground. There wasn’t time for anything fancy. All Shayne had was his rage and his terror and the raw strength it granted him.

Shayne gripped the Paladin’s gun, using it to force him into the wall. He pushed into the ground with the ball of his foot, using the force to drive his knee into the guard’s groin. He let out a pained grunt, folding in on himself. At this point, the first guard realized he wasn’t going to get a shot off into the melee. He slung his submachinegun and approached with a raised fist. Shayne took the first jab, snapping the man’s head back from the sharp force.

He was wasting so much time. Shayne growled as he shifted his footing. He swung his fist back to maintain balance as he nailed the guard in the jaw with a roundhouse kick. The man toppled over onto the stairs, clutching his face. The Paladin behind him had recovered and attempted to grapple Shayne.

Shayne moved automatically. His body defaulted to the motions of training drilled into his very being over the years. Shayne twisted to avoid the headlock, elbow smashing into the Paladin’s sternum. The strike winded him, sending him onto all fours and scrambling for his dropped weapon. Shayne decided he was done dallying. He was only a few floors away now and had to make do.

Shayne’s gloves protected his knuckles as he smashed open an emergency fire cabinet. He grabbed hold of the thick hose and unraveled it with trembling hands. The guards at the nearby landing were beginning to regain their footing.

Shayne only spared the drop down the middle of the stairwell a single glance. Best case scenario was a dislocation. Worst was breaking something.

Those were odds he could work with.

Shayne vaulted over the railing, firehose in hand just as the first shots began to snap in his direction.

* * *

“Get the fuck back! I got a bomb!” Lewis’ voice was sharp in Courtney’s ear. The hotel staff still in the midst of all the panic began to scatter. Hands shot into the air as they dispersed, desperately fleeing the scene.

They were in the backrooms, down the twisting, labyrinthian hallways that only the workers here could navigate. The dim lights flickered as they hobbled together along the drab halls. As several staff members pushed past an exit, two officers from the NYPD stepped in.

The alarm registered on their faces and they made to draw their weapons. Courtney let out a choked gasp as Lewis tightened his hold around her neck. The detonator was brandished out in a clear threat. He yelled, “Hey! Don’t you come any closer! I’ve got a bomb!”

At this point, Courtney was in full cooperation for the time being. It was in the interest of her own survival. She called out to the police, pleading, “Please don’t shoot! He’s got a bomb!”

“Easy,” One of the officers warned, gun pointed.

“Listen to her!” Lewis ordered. He raised the detonator high up so that none could miss it, “If you shoot me, this goes off!”

The officers heeded Lewis’ warning. They kept their guns raised but halted their advance. Lewis continue dragging Courtney backwards. His head was on a swivel, searching furiously for his escape route. Eventually, he settled on one door and tugged Courtney along by the neck.

Before they disappeared around the corner and through the door, Courtney caught sight of one of the officer’s clutching his radio. “They’re entering the kitchen, over.”

The door swung shut once they shambled together into the kitchen. Courtney immediately noticed Lewis’ arm grow loose around her. He continued to tug her along, but lacked the strength and bravado he’d been strutting.

The industrial kitchen was expansive. Stainless-steel surfaces lined the room for all the _mise en place_ needs of the hotel. On the lower tiers, hundreds of plates were stacked and racked, ready for use. On some of the tables, the pricey lunch dishes and appetizers alike were waiting to be served. Kitchenware and all manners of catering implements joined the rest of the well-stocked equipment. Off to one side of the room, there was a massive stainless-steel freezer, flanked by more racks of ingredients. The last of the staff had fled the area, leaving the kitchen deathly silent, save for both of their exhausted, frazzled gasps for air.

Before Courtney could begin formulating her escape plan, Lewis released her.

She blinked back the shock. Her hands remained at her sides. They were splayed out slightly in an instinctive, placating motion. Her bag was still wrapped around her neck, and the gun within was tucked away. It was live and ready to fire.

Lewis was prowling back and forth, cataloguing the entry points. As he paced, his steps were heavy with the weight of all he’d done, yet light as the overwhelming panic bubbled within him. He lumbered across the space, thoughts racing. His face was contorted into a lost, frustrated scowl.

Courtney flinched whenever he turned around sharply enough to whip the air around him. It would be exceedingly easy to tug the gun out and shoot him in the head, but that was suicide with one extra step. Lewis was still clutching the detonator firmly in hand. The moment pressure left the switch, they were both dead.

“Lewis,” Courtney reached out in a shaky whisper. All she could do was try and get his guard down by reassuring him he was still in control. Lewis was circling around, muttering under his breath. His hand would occasionally come up to scratch at his closely buzzed red hair.

What struck Courtney was how young he looked. She was easily a few years his senior. The hard lines on his face and the glassy eyes aged him up with stress. Yet at the same time, they broke down the walls he put up and made him look like a tormented young man. Watching Lewis unravel in the grim silence of the kitchen was causing her anxiety to shoot back up. It was easier when he was all threats and steel, action and violence. When it was clear he was as much of a ticking time bomb as his vest, it urged her on to act.

Courtney tried again, “Lewis, what – what’s the plan here?” She gulped down the ball in her throat, “What do we do now, huh?”

Lewis was mumbling under his breath, damp eyes flicking across their surroundings – desperate for escape.

She tried to appeal to his humanity, taking a cautious foot forward. “I’m really scared, okay?”

As Courtney inched closer, she could make out some of the rambling words. A scatter of rhymes. He was reciting some kind of poem.

“When spring comes back with the rustling shade…” Lewis rubbed at his eyes with the back of his hand. “And apple-blossoms fill the air…”

“Lewis, we can get out of this if we’re smart, right?” Courtney took a deep breath and motioned towards the doors, “I bet there are cops all over-”

“I’m not gonna give myself up,” Lewis cut her off without a break in his meandering, jittery stride. “I – I’m not gonna go to jail, I-” He blew air out of his mouth, running his hand across his face, “I just – I need to think, okay?”

“Nobody else here has to die, Lewis. Let’s just-”

“Shut up!”

Courtney winced as Lewis raised the detonator in her direction. Her hands came up once more. She looked into Lewis’ damp grey eyes and let out a shudder. “Okay, Lewis. Okay.”

Lewis held her gaze. His hand continued to tremble in front of him. The tight grip he had on the detonator didn’t loosen, and that was all that mattered in the moment. He let out a deep breath and recited, “It may be he shall take my hand, and lead me into his dark land. And close my eyes and quench my breath – it may be I shall pass him still. I have a rendezvous with Death.”

Courtney blinked at Lewis and his fatalistic poem. She suppressed a shiver while he watched her through his dark, tumultuous eyes. When he spoke up again, his eyes settled on anywhere but her. They went to the exposed pipes running along the ceiling. The cracks between the floor tiles. The glare of the light reflecting off the steel tables. It almost reminded her of Shayne.

“I had this buddy. Recited that poem all the damn time like an asshole. I heard it in my sleep still running through my head.” Lewis’ shallow breaths allowed for ample pauses as he spoke. “In a firefight, it’s the only thing I could think of. My friend – he was so sure there was a bullet out there with his name on it. I never forgot that poem when the day came, and he was right.”

Courtney couldn’t imagine the horrors Lewis had seen overseas. It would be in vain to try and openly sympathize with him. All she could do was nod and try to nudge him into standing down. Maybe she could convince him that he wouldn’t end up like his buddy. That he didn’t have a rendezvous with death just yet.

“It’s over, Lewis. You don’t,” Courtney once more swallowed the lump in her throat. She spread her arms at her sides as she told him, “You don’t have to hurt anyone else.”

“I sent you my writing,” Lewis took a step forward, detonator raised. His breath hitched before he could continue, “You could’ve been part of the solution. But you chose to be part of the problem.” He sniffled, and that was all it took for the loose tears to start running down his face. “I thought you were different.”

Courtney was forced to suppress the anger and frustration.

“After you wrote – those things you wrote about Shayne,” Lewis’ pink face contorted into confusion. A mix of emotions crossed his features, and then he squinted at Courtney. “Aren’t you… you’re his girlfriend, aren’t you? He never talked about you by name but…”

Courtney was stunned speechless as Lewis gazed at her. There was that befuddlement he wore mixed with a look almost akin to betrayal – at the idea that his friend never told him that Courtney Miller, the woman that wrote about his truth, was his girlfriend.

But, well – she wasn’t. Not really, anyway. But her silence had drawn on for too long, and it all but confirmed it for Lewis. It allowed him to put the pieces together.

“He… he talked about having someone in this – someone special that was helping him. I didn’t realize…” The detonator in Lewis’ hand faltered, lowering by a few inches. Then, it came back up. Accompanying it was a fresh surge of frustrated tears. “If you understood Shayne, I thought you’d understand me.”

Courtney held onto that in an attempt to ground him. “Okay – Lewis, please. I’m sorry,” Courtney’s own voice shook. Her brows pitched in sympathy as she tried to connect with Lewis. It may very well be her only way out. “I’m sorry. Help me, okay? Help me understand.”

Lewis rubbed at his eyes while Courtney continued on, “Okay? And then – and we’ll go and tell everyone else just like you want, okay? Just…” Courtney let out a nervous chuckle, “We can’t do that if we’re dead.”

For a second, Lewis looked like he was seriously considering it. His glossy eyes dared to meet her, and his lip trembled. The detonator began to lower.

There was a thud in the distance, followed by a sharp grunt of pain. Both their heads turned towards the source – one of the doors leading into the kitchen.

“Hey! If anyone tries to get in here, I swear this bomb goes off!” Lewis roared out and the detonator came back up in the air.

The door thundered open, smashing into the wall. Lewis and Courtney both winced and jumped back as Shayne’s voice bellowed, “Lewis!”

Before Courtney could get the idea to duck away, Lewis’ firm arm wrapped around her neck. She yelled out in surprise and found herself right where she started. Her back was pressed to Lewis’ bomb vest, and the arm around her neck locked her in place.

Shayne staggered into the kitchen. His right arm hung limply at his side. Half his face was red and sticky with blood. The skull on his vest glared at them as he hobbled forward. His tattered coat swayed as the hood limply eased down by itself. He raised his uninjured arm up as he called, “I’m unarmed!”

Courtney could feel the frantic beating of Lewis’ heart against her back as she was tugged along. Lewis brandished the detonator and barked at Shayne, “Get back, Shayne! You take one more step, I swear to Christ this is going off!”

Shayne stopped. He leaned slightly to one side, as if it hurt just to stand upright. His breathing was ragged and almost wheezy. It killed Courtney to see him so hurt.

“Lewis, everyone thinks we did this together. You know that?”

Lewis was unfazed by this. He continued dragging Courtney backwards. He only spoke up when Shayne risked staggering forward. “Hey! Stay back!”

Shayne kept his good arm up in a pacifying gesture. Courtney felt her own fear reflected in Shayne’s eyes when they settled on her. He held her gaze for an extended, tense moment. Then, his eyes flicked once towards the detonator, and then back to her.

Courtney then watched Shayne with far more focus and intent than ever before.

“You know, Lewis – maybe you were right.” Shayne licked his lips. “Maybe you and me, we are the same.”

Lewis was still, save for the slight swaying as a result of his panting, and Courtney’s firm grip on his arm. Shayne’s dark eyes continued to bore into Lewis as his gravelly voice went on. “Maybe this is the way it’s supposed to end, yeah? Just – just you and me, though. Right?”

Shayne swallowed a lump as he reiterated, “Just you, me, and the bomb – right? You don’t need her. You leave her out of this.”

When Lewis didn’t move an inch, Shayne took an unopposed step forward. He was still too far away – fuck, he may as well have been in another state. The feet between them felt like miles, and it made Courtney grip Lewis’ arm even tighter. To remind her of what was at stake – of what would happen if she fucked up and gave into that urge to break free and run to Shayne’s comforting presence.

Shayne eventually broke the silence by changing topics. “I got Damien out in one piece. You strapped him up to explode, but I got him out.”

Courtney’s heart skipped a beat. She could feel Lewis’ breath hitch in her ear as he grew even stiller.

“I bet you’re relieved to hear that, aren’t you? Deep down, you didn’t want to do that, did you?” Shayne frowned at Lewis. His dark blue eyes were unflinching. Courtney couldn’t tell how Lewis’ reacted to that. She herself was still a little busy reeling from the surprise. She figured things with Damien had gone sideways since Lewis was here. But not as sideways as turning Damien into a bomb.

“That’s why you left that wire in place, right?” Shayne’s eyes went back to Courtney’s as he spoke. His words were clear and deliberate, addressing Lewis, yet focused on Courtney. “That’s why you kept that white wire to disarm the bomb.”

Courtney glanced over at the detonator. Two wires were leading over to his vest – one white and one red.

Her eyes shot back to Shayne. Through the storm in his eyes, Courtney could almost see a flash of light as she’d gotten the message.

“That was the right thing to do,” Shayne nodded deliberately at Courtney before he looked at Lewis. “I want you to do the right thing again, Lewis. Just let her go. Let her go and-”

The moment Shayne stepped forward, Lewis lurched backwards. He shouted in warning while waving the detonator, “Hey! Hey, you stay back!”

Courtney let out a strangled choke when Lewis’ arm tightened around her neck. Her face twisted in pain as Lewis continued yelling his threats. She could throw him over her shoulder. It would be the easiest fucking thing on earth. She could have him pinned on the ground and pound his face into the floor in a matter of seconds. The only thing stopping her was that goddamn dead man’s switch. Now it was like that clusterfuck with Mike in Rikers all over again, but twice as worse.

“God damnit, Lewis!” Shayne spat. His entire body tightened as he walked to the side instead. The fists he kept by his sides shook with contained fury. He took long, powerful steps around one of the steel tables. He soldiered on despite his limp and the dead arm hanging by his side. Courtney could tell he was trying to get a clear line between himself and them.

The veins in his neck bulged as he unclenched his jaw and growled, “Didn’t Clay ever teach you not to hurt a woman?”

“My father has nothing to do with this,” Lewis answered.

Shayne scoffed. There was nothing but venom in his voice as he snapped, “The second those bombs went off, you made him a part of this. One day not long from now, he’s gonna wake up and,” Another huff of disgust, “He’ll walk outside and see the word _terrorist_ painted on his car.”

Courtney watched Shayne closely. Her heart was ready to burst, and all the tension was giving her a pounding headache. She focused on those eyes. Those goddamn ocean eyes – a ferocious storm to his enemies, and a serene escape for her.

Shayne was still glaring daggers at Lewis, mounting his attack and throwing him off balance. That was her cue. The detonator was moving far too often, but with a limited range of motion. It was either sticking out ahead, pointed at Shayne, or it was wrapped across her torso – an extra measure to make sure she didn’t try and break free.

There was no way to get a good look at it. If she blatantly looked down, Lewis would catch on. So, her hand began by her stomach, inching its way towards the wires. Shayne’s eyes didn’t miss a thing. They looked at her, and then briefly towards her hands.

Shayne kept up the act, spitting the harsh truth out at Lewis, who was too stunned to reply. “His mailbox is gonna be so full of hate and death threats – he’s just gonna give up, you know? And you, Lewis – you may as well have done that to him yourself.”

Courtney’s fingers found one of the wires. She pinched it with her pointer finger and her thumb, prepared to wrap around it. Shayne sneered at Lewis and gave a decisive shake of his head.

Wrong wire.

“His friends, his family – you know, Lewis, they’re gonna abandon him,” Shayne growled. Courtney released the wire and slowly dipped her hand down, feeling for the second wire. Shayne’s chest was rising and falling with furious breaths as he kept the tirade going. “His phone won’t ring! He will know loneliness, Lewis! He will suffer!”

Just as Courtney felt the next wire, the detonator shot back up to point at Shayne. Lewis took another long step back, and Courtney staggered in her attempt to stay upright.

Shayne brought his uninjured arm back up to try and pacify Lewis. “Just… Your dad, he… His life is ruined, you know?”

Lewis’ head was searching back and forth for a means of escape. Courtney spared their surroundings a glance as realization dawned on her. Somehow, without Lewis even noticing it, Shayne had backed them into a corner. The only way _out_ was either into the industrial-sized freezer, or straight through Shayne.

“I know what that’s like, Lewis,” Shayne eased up on the rage and fire. His voice took a sharp, wispy tone. “My family was taken from me and I couldn’t save them. I know what it’s like to lose.”

Lewis’ arm crossed over her chest once more, close to the one wrapped around her neck. Courtney didn’t dally. She inched along and found another wire. Her eyes sought Shayne’s for approval.

With a gulp, Shayne shook his head in a clear motion as he continued, “You and me, Lewis. We are the same.”

Courtney let go of the wire. Her fingers eased up until they nudged another. The cues Shayne gave were subtle, but unmistakable. He was still rambling on and engaging Lewis. “We try to pretend that there’s something more to us, something noble, you know? Brothers-in-arms, right?”

Shayne’s jaw ticked as his eyes met hers. Another deliberate shake of the head as he spoke, “You and me, we want to create a version of this world that we can stand to live in.” Courtney let go. Her brow was furrowed in concentration as she discreetly felt for the white wire. Her best guess was that she’d managed to take hold of one of the wires from his vest. Because there _were_ only two wires leading into the detonator. It was a coin flip’s chance, but she kept grabbing the wrong wires.

Courtney couldn’t truly tell where Shayne was trying to lead the one-sided conversation. It was almost like watching a one-man improv show with no prompts. But despite the aimlessness, Shayne was doing a good job of keeping Lewis distracted.

“We’re creatures of habit, right, Lewis? We like doing the same things over and over again.” Shayne watched her with wide eyes as her thumb eased under another wire. Her heart skipped a beat when Shayne nodded. There was the slightest uptick at the corner of his lips when he added meaningfully, “It’s just like women and their goddamn bags, right?”

Courtney took a firm hold of the white wire. With her other hand, she moved as unhurriedly as her frayed nerves would allow. Shayne scoffed, but it almost came out like an amused huff. He focused on Lewis when he added, “After everything she’s been through, she’s still got that bag around her neck.”

Her hand dipped into the unzipped bag as Shayne’s words discreetly sought confirmation, “Ms. Miller, I imagine you can tell me everything you have in that bag, right?”

With a sly smile unseen by Lewis, Courtney replied, “Yup.” Her fingers found the comforting steel of the gun she’d snatched earlier.

“Lewis, I know you’re a creature of habit if I’ve ever seen one.” Shayne bought her the time, up until she twitched her head in a firm nod.

Changing from the quiet, almost soothing voice, Shayne roared, “Do it now, Court! Do it!”

Courtney yanked the white wire free with a ferocious grunt. Lewis instinctively brought the detonator up, releasing his thumb. When the explosion didn’t come, he tried pressing it down again. Courtney squeezed the trigger, blasting hot lead through the bottom of her bag and into Lewis’ foot.

As Lewis recoiled in pain, Shayne lunged forward with almost inhuman speed. He yelled as he crashed into Courtney and Lewis. His functional arm seized her waist, wrenching her away from her captor. The momentum sent Lewis tumbling into the freezer. He slammed the door just as Shayne set Courtney safely down.

The audible lock of the freezer set in. Shayne’s predatory figure lurched on towards the door, tugging wildly at the handle.

Courtney had no time to bask in the relief. There was the sound of movement from outside the kitchen. She ran over to peer through the small glass panes on the doors. She didn’t think it was possible, but her blood ran even colder. A tactical team in full gear was assembling beyond the room.

“Shit, shit, shit! We gotta go!”

Her warning fell on deaf ears. Shayne was stiff as a board in front of the freezer door. But the longer he watched Lewis through the glass window, the more the fight appeared to trickle out of him. The tension seeped from his shoulders. From a fearsome scowl, to a sad, disappointed frown on his face – Shayne’s entire body language changed. Courtney could vaguely make out the words of the poem Lewis was reciting.

But now wasn’t the time.

“Come on! We gotta go, Shayne! We gotta go now!”

Courtney skidded to a stop behind Shayne, who stood inches away from Lewis, separated by the hardy steel door. Lewis was fixing the detonator, peeling back the plastic of the wire, and twisting the copper. He fiddled with it as the poem went on.

_But I’ve a rendezvous with Death_

_At midnight in some flaming town,_

_When Spring trips north again this year,_

“Doesn’t have to be like this, Lewis,” Shayne told him. Courtney watched Shayne helplessly. Tears poured down Lewis’ red face. His small frame was rocked by sobs, struggling to get the words out.

Shayne proved his grit and his powerful moral compass by standing firm and pleading. Despite it all – Shayne tried to end this the _right_ way, as Courtney had called it. Even when she was ready to get the fuck out and leave Lewis to his own devices, Shayne showed his true colors. What truly set him apart from people like Lewis. Through the fear and dread, Courtney felt her unending and inexplicably deep love for Shayne grow even more.

“I’ve got good lawyers, Lewis. They’ll help you,” Shayne gulped, “We’ll get you all the help you need, but you gotta take that vest off. Leave the bomb and come out.”

Courtney admired the effort, but her survival instincts were kicking back in. “Shayne…”

“Get out of here, Court,” Shayne grunted to dismiss her.

Courtney scoffed. It took some willpower not to smack him on the head right then and there. “What? No, I’m not-”

“Courtney, you go! Go now!”

Courtney yelled right back, “Fuck no! Not without you! Come on!”

“Lewis, buddy – let’s do the right thing.” Shayne’s pleas went unheard.

Lewis raised the repaired detonator back up. His eyes were shut. Tears streamed down his face as he muttered on.

_And I to my pledged word am true,_

_I shall not fail that rendezvous._

Shayne spun on his heel and all but tackled Courtney out of harm’s way. There was a flash of light and a rumbling boom. The freezer door sailed forward at terminal velocity as Courtney and Shayne hit the ground hard.

Her ears were ringing again. The tile floor beneath her was hard but decidedly cool. It was comforting in a way. Courtney wouldn’t mind lying there a moment longer. The thick, billowing smoke was filling the room. Mixing in with the acrid smell was the stomach-turning scent of charred flesh. In between coughs, Courtney gagged. There was a throbbing pain on her head – close to where she’d already gotten hit earlier. The damp feeling on her cheek told her it was bleeding.

As she squirmed on the ground, her hand bumped into something solid. Courtney shifted to get a better feel of the object, only for it to move. A sturdy, comforting weight inched past her shoulders and over her collarbone. Then fingers eased into her hair, cupping the base of her skull.

It gave Courtney the strength to blink her bleary eyes into focus. Shayne’s face was inches away, looking her up and down for any injuries. Her hand held onto a fistful of torn fabric by his shoulder. It anchored her back to the present.

“You okay?” Shayne’s voice was little more than a whisper – or at least, that’s what it seemed like to her throbbing ears.

Her throat was rough from the smoke and she felt like she’d been chewing glass. She hummed instead in affirmation, weakly nodding her head.

As the seconds ticked by, they both regained their bearings and sensibilities. The ringing in their ears began to subside. Their hands were passing over each other’s bodies, helping one another in standing up. Courtney straightened up and rolled her shoulder, wincing at the unpleasant sensation. In between pants, she cursed under her breath. Shayne was grimacing as well. His arm hung limply at his side while he stared at what remained of the freezer.

The smoke was thickest within. It obscured most of the view, but not enough. Not enough to hide the scraps of cloth and flesh, or the red paste splattering the walls and floor.

Shayne’s hand turned her face away from the freezer before she could throw up her breakfast. “Come on,” He muttered, and began to limp away.

Courtney stopped him with a hand on his good wrist. “Hey, wait.”

Shayne squinted at her through the smoke. Courtney could barely get a good look at him through the hazy air. His head was still bleeding from the graze and from a few new cuts. She couldn’t do anything about that just now. But the arm – she could fix that. It was instinctual to her. Shayne needed help and she had to provide it. It was only natural. Why Shayne was giving her that perplexed look was beyond her.

Courtney took his bad arm and began to get it in place. “Do you have a way out of here?”

“Yeah,” Shayne said between heavy pants. “Zipline on the roof.”

Courtney didn’t question what action-movie bullshit Shayne was thinking. If that was his plan, then she had to trust him to pull it off. But to do so, he probably needed both his arms to be in working condition. “This is gonna hurt.”

“Nothing new,” Shayne grunted.

There was no time to count down from three. Courtney yanked with all her might. An audible pop resounded from Shayne’s shoulder, and he gasped in air with a pained hiss. Courtney pressed her body against his. Her lips found his neck, which tasted like soot and blood. She whispered against his skin, “I’m sorry, baby.”

With a rough breath, Shayne gently pried her off his figure. “It’s okay. Let’s just… let’s go.”

Audible radio chatter from beyond the room reminded Courtney of the next problem. The police had assembled and were preparing to storm the room. If they were even the slightest bit competent, they’d likely be hitting it from both entrances. There was no deciphering the radio chatter – due in part to the distance and the ringing in their ears. But it was an easy guess that they were likely assessing the situation and asking for orders. With the bomb having gone off, they were likely cautious of storming the kitchen. They had to weigh the risk of a secondary explosion versus the urgency of rescuing the _hostage_.

The idea hit Courtney like a truck.

She looked at Shayne, limping and bleeding more than any man should. He’d withstood enough punishment for ten men and was still standing.

He’d literally jumped in front of bullets for her, and he was still standing.

Courtney held back the surge of emotion and the tears that came with them. She was going to get him out of here.

“Shayne,” Courtney fished for the gun in her bag. She flicked the safety on. “How are you getting to the roof?”

His head was craned towards the doors as he answered, “Service elevator.”

She held the pistol by the barrel and extended it towards Shayne. His brows met with confusion, eyes snapping between her and the gun.

“Take me hostage.”

“What? No,” Shayne scoffed, “Fuck no.”

“Shayne,” Courtney’s voice quivered. She took a step closer, inches away from the man she loved, beaten, bloodied, and shot to shit. “Please.”

“Court,” The urgency, fear, and dread all flashed across Shayne’s eyes. His face was twisted like it pained him to even think about it. “I can’t.”

Courtney’s words came quickly as she reasoned with him. Time wasn’t on their side. “The cops are out there, and they won’t hesitate to shoot you. Doesn’t matter if you’re Brad or Shayne or if they haven’t ID’d you. They think you’re a part of this.” With a breath, she brought the gun closer. “They won’t shoot you if you have a hostage.”

There was a sound that rumbled from Shayne’s throat, like she’d stabbed him with a knife and twisted the wound. His glossy eyes were searching her face and he made no move to reach for the pistol.

Courtney clenched her jaw in frustration when Shayne shook his head. She ejected the magazine and cleared the chamber. With clumsy, quaking hands, Courtney shoved the magazine into his front pocket. She released the slide stop and pointed the muzzle up to her chin. She angled it to conceal the empty magazine well.

“Just like that.”

“Courtney,” Shayne _whimpered_. The sound caused her to give Shayne a sad smile. She offered the unloaded gun once more.

“Shayne, please.” Courtney’s hand settled onto his vest. Her fingers traced the fresh markings on the white skull – the precise spots he’d taken the bullets meant for her. She blinked back the tears in her eyes to remind him, “I’m with you.”

Finally, Shayne’s walls collapsed. He bowed his head deeply before accepting the gun and tugging up the hood of his ripped-up coat. Slowly, gently, and with far more care than imaginable, Shayne pulled her close. Her back pressed against the solid mass of his bulletproof vest. She shivered as the cold muzzle of the gun pressed against her jaw.

And Courtney shuddered again when Shayne kissed her neck, whispering an apology into her skin.

It was the safest Courtney had felt all morning.

With pained but coordinated steps, they walked towards the doors. Courtney took in a deep breath before calling out, “Don’t shoot!”

Courtney pushed the doors open, allowing them entry into the hallway. A line of rifles was pointed their way. Her heart stilled, and she could hear Shayne’s breath hitch. She carried on the act as best as she could. Courtney gripped Shayne’s arm firmly as the pistol trembled against the underside of her jaw.

“Don’t shoot!” Courtney pleaded again.

“Stand down!”

Of all the people to lead this team, Courtney hadn’t expected Matt from the 15th to be here. As they drew closer, they got a better look at the assembled team. Matt wore a vest over his usual detective getup. Flanking him were numerous police officers in their full black tactical gear. The guns pointed their way were aimed off-angle one by one. Matt lowered the pistol to his side and his eyes grew wide with recognition.

“Holy shit,” He muttered.

Courtney and Shayne had made it halfway across the hall now. Shayne leaned back against the wall, hitting the elevator button with his free hand. The tension mounted as the officers assembled began to mimic Matt’s sentiments. Whispers spread through the small team.

Matt then confirmed their suspicions. “Let her go, Topp.”

Courtney kept her breathing even, hands raised towards the team to keep them from getting twitchy.

“Topp, there’s no way out of this. You don’t have to do this. We’ve got the whole building surrounded.” Matt clenched his jaw. “Just let her go and we’ll go get your lawyers, yeah?”

The service elevator chimed, and the doors cranked open.

“Topp – it doesn’t have to be this way.”

Shayne was fully set on ignoring Matt completely. He kept the gun firmly pressed against Courtney’s jaw and backed them up until he hit the steel wall. Courtney had half a mind to press the close button, but then they would see her clear compliance. Luckily, Shayne had it under control. He sent his boot up and hit the button with an impressive kick.

The doors slid to a grinding shut.

The moment they were alone, they broke apart. Shayne fell to one side of the elevator, while Courtney leaned on the opposite wall for support. The churning of the elevator’s mechanisms and their heavy pants were the only audible sounds.

Shayne was hunched over, leaning against the corner as he took the moment to catch his ragged breaths. Courtney slid her back up against the wall to straighten herself out. She looked at him under the bright light above.

Shayne’s exhausted gaze was set on the floor as his entire body heaved with each breath. The small cuts on his face had mostly clotted, leaving trails of blood along his nose, temple, forehead, and bearded cheek. The hood didn’t do much to conceal the bullet he took to the side of the head, just above his ear. His long, messy hair was stained with crimson. Shayne was a strong, healthy young man and it showed. He would need stitches for the wound, but the bleeding had slowed. His body had managed to partially clot it up, at least for now.

Since he was bent over, Courtney got a look at his back. Her heart stuttered at the rips in his coat. It was black, so it was hard detecting the blood, but she could make out more cuts from shrapnel and possible grazes from bullets. Multiple tears in his jeans also indicated other wounds he’d sustained in the ordeal. The back of his vest was also peppered with shining fragments from the freezer door.

That was when she saw the massive piece of shrapnel wedged into his right tricep, just above the elbow. The craggy scrap of metal, easily four or so inches long, reflected the light and was stained a sickly red. Blood was trickling down Shayne’s arm. She hadn’t seen it in the haze of the kitchen.

All of this punishment he’d taken so that she wouldn’t have to.

The words failed to take shape in her mouth as she reached out for him. Her hands hovered above the shrapnel. Her lips formed his name, but no sound came out. The motion got Shayne’s attention. He glanced at the foreign object embedded into his arm, and then at her. He shrugged in a far too casual manner.

Then, he nodded towards the elevator’s control panel. They were a good few floors up but still had a way to go. Shayne had to get off without her. Courtney pushed off the wall and pulled the elevator’s emergency stop. The compartment gave a shudder before grinding to a halt. An alarm across the elevator shaft blared out.

Courtney leaned against the steel wall for support. Her breathing was still heavy and ragged. It was exceedingly difficult to stabilize. There was too much going on.

When Courtney turned back to face Shayne, he was handing her the gun. A glance at his hip revealed he was still armed, so Courtney accepted the weapon and the magazine.

As if she had any more use for it.

Shayne was still panting while he stared up and beyond the open access hatch. His legs were coiled, already steeling himself for the jump to climb up to the top of the elevator. Already preparing to leave her again.

Her resolve chipped away at the sight of him.

So bloodied, battered, and broken, but so strong. So prepared to escape before he so much as gave himself a break.

Her heart wept for him, and her eyes would follow suit.

Matt had ID’d him in front of the other officers. He was going back on the run. Everything was about to be turned on its head, and he was going out there alone. She wanted to climb up the elevator shaft with him. Ride that goddamn zipline with him and escape together to God knows where. She didn’t care, as long as she was with him.

But that was a pipe dream.

Shayne would sooner turn himself in than let Courtney go on the run with him as an accomplice. He would never let her live life with him as a fugitive. He’d probably leave her tied up in the elevator if he had to. She wouldn’t put it past him. That was the sort of shit he’d pull to keep her safe.

And maybe he was right. Even if it hurt.

And god damnit, she loved him for it.

She loved him and he was broken, bleeding, and in so much pain.

“Shayne,” Courtney’s voice was little more than a whimper. Almost a whine. Shayne continued to stare up at the elevator shaft, blinking vacantly at the challenge ahead. She tried again, “Shayne.”

His head turned to look at her, as if broken from a trance. His eyes were glassy and red when they landed on her. He drank up the sight of her in that way only he could. Shayne took her all in like a drowning sailor finding air.

Courtney’s feet were clumsy when she stepped closer. Her hand landed on his upper arm, above the shrapnel. The gory piece of metal made her stomach turn and her heart ache. When she looked back at Shayne, it’s like he was mimicking her motions. His eyes trailed from the jagged piece of steel in his arm and then up to look at her in a sluggish manner. The tears welled up in her eyes as she grew acutely aware of how she may be the last thing holding him together.

Courtney bit her lip in the effort to contain her emotions. Her thumb brushed whatever comfort it could against his wounded skin. Shayne’s eyes never strayed from her as he silently watched her. The pain, longing, and fear all swirled within those beautiful goddamn eyes of his. Courtney chewed on her lip. It was all she could do not to break down and sob in front of him. She motioned vaguely towards the bloody mess on the side of his face.

He was so hurt.

Shayne only tore his eyes away from her own to steal glances at her lips. Eventually, his forehead limply rested against her own. A faint smile made its way to Courtney’s features.

The small space they occupied was heavy – and heaviest yet in the scant distance between them. They drew slow, heavy breaths. There were no words that could encapsulate everything running through either of their minds. For the moment, it was simply enough to breathe the same air, and draw strength from each other’s touch. Everything that had transpired sunk down and settled in. Against all odds, they’d survived the worst. The war wasn’t over yet, especially for Shayne, but _just for the moment_ , they had each other.

They had peace.

It was Shayne who moved first. Courtney had expected him to pull away.

He did the opposite.

His lips captured her own. It didn’t take Courtney a single second to respond in kind. He tasted like smoke, blood, and gunpowder. It shouldn’t have been as comforting as it was – but fuck.

_It was._

Courtney’s hands tentatively went up to his neck. She was careful not to agitate any of his wounds. But she cared not for the blood she got on her own hands. Shayne gradually deepened the kiss, craning his face in to get more of her. His hands, firm but gentle, ran up and down her back in a familiar, intimate motion.

Shayne’s lips were dry and chapped to hell and back, but Courtney didn’t mind. Hers were hardly any better after the shitshow they’d been through. The moments ticked by and Courtney lost herself to the unspoken words Shayne pressed to her lips. She was expecting him to pull away any second now. Simply because that’s how it always was. This never lasted for them.

He didn’t.

When Courtney had imagined the next time they would kiss, she envisioned one of their apartments. Maybe the taste of beer or wine. The scent of candles in the air. Something more romantic than this. Yet the dirty elevator was somehow fitting for them. They started this mess with guns blazing and it was only right that they sealed the deal covered in blood, dirt, and smoke.

She had also imagined the kiss to be considerably tamer and gentler. That was just the sort of person Shayne was.

But they’d both nearly died today, and they were both hungry for each other. From slow, tentative kisses, the pace was rapidly amped up. Shayne sucked at her bottom lip. Courtney bit his own in response, and the soft grunt he made only urged her on.

The hands they had on each other grew heavy and needy with little regard for the slight pain they could be causing. There was a bruise by her ribs that Shayne was inadvertently pressing. Her hand was getting damp with his blood as it ran up his face and close to the graze. Neither of them cared. If anything, it stoked the burning fires within them. After the third time Courtney bit Shayne’s lip, she felt him press forward. Her back met the steel wall with a thud, and she let out a sharp gasp of her own.

The quiet laugh Shayne had the audacity to release prompted Courtney to kiss him even harder. The heat had been radiating off his body the moment they touched foreheads, but now they may as well have been in the midst of another explosion. The sighs and gasps against one another’s mouths doubled in urgency and force. Courtney gripped Shayne’s shoulders with desire, pulling him even closer as their bodies were flushed together. She needed more, more, more of him. Desperately.

Courtney’s leg slid up to wrap around his. She used the leverage to pull Shayne in, driving his hips into her own. He gave a tantalizing grunt as Courtney bit her lip, a sly smile playing on her features. Courtney was powerless to stop the moan from escaping her mouth when Shayne gripped a handful of her hair. She was getting lightheaded as the heat from her core prickled throughout her body. The cool steel of the elevator wall only made her skin tingle further as she burned up. Shayne silenced her moans with a harsh nibble of her lip. Her immediate reaction was to grind her hips harder against his own.

None of this was normal. They were both bloody – Shayne especially – and tired and smelled like sweat and smoke. Nothing about this should be turning her on – but fuck.

If Courtney had gone her entire life without smooching a bloodied Shayne in a filthy service elevator, well, then she’d never truly lived.

The absurdity of it all and the interminable love she had for him had Courtney smiling widely into their steamy kiss. Courtney felt Shayne mimic the sentiment against her lips. He tilted his head to kiss the corner of her mouth. In a husky voice, Shayne asked, “What?”

“Nothing,” Courtney sighed and turned right back to crash her lips against his. A soft, delighted grunt rumbled from Shayne’s chest. It took all her willpower not to strip him down and mount him then and there on the grimy elevator floor.

The brief reminder of their choice of make-out venue was a grim reality check. Shayne needed to get out of here. Courtney had him wrapped around her thumb and he wasn’t going anywhere unless she made him.

It was with great reluctance that she broke the kiss.

“Babe,” Courtney’s voice was breathier than intended.

Shayne was panting now that he was out of breath again. He must have well and truly lost himself in their brief throes of passion, because he appeared clueless. “Yeah?”

“You gotta go.”

It was for Shayne’s own good. She could do this for hours. But they didn’t have _minutes_ , let alone hours.

The three words broke Shayne from the kiss-high daze that had filled his head. He blinked a few times and glanced up at the access hatch. He gulped and stumbled away from Courtney. His back knocked into the wall as he muttered, “Right. Yeah. Shit.”

By the time he turned his eyes back to Courtney, they were glassy and brimming with emotion once more. She watched the bob of his Adam’s apple as his hands fidgeted at his sides. Courtney did her best to give him a reassuring smile. All the while she was fighting back her own tidal wave of feelings.

Shayne held her gaze for a moment before nodding. In a move that was so quintessentially Shayne, he told her, “Take care.”

As if he wasn’t marching out into the hostile world on his own.

Shayne jumped up before he could second guess himself or she could offer him help. He grabbed hold of the sharp edges of the hatch. With a grunt, he muscled up into the elevator shaft.

The tears Courtney had been fighting finally began to fall as Shayne disappeared from view.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading up to this explosive finale! We're down to our last few chapters now, dealing with the aftermath of this whole mess. I've delivered the much awaited initial release of Shayne and Court's tension, but of course I gotta give you guys a bit of a cliffhanger as a trade off :P This was fun and stressful to write, and I hope you enjoyed this long, action-packed chapter. It's the longest chapter thus far.
> 
> I rewrote Lewis' death a couple of times until I was happy with it. I felt like Shayne's love for Courtney is boundless (even if he won't admit it), but he still feels both responsibility and kinship for Lewis. As I wrote it through Court's POV, it was a testament to how much of a good person Shayne is - that he wanted to try and turn Lewis in despite everything that had happened. I wanted to write Lewis in such a way that, up until the end, you can see he's just tragically lost, broken, and in over his head. Who knows - maybe if Shayne hadn't barged into the kitchen, Courtney could have talked him down.
> 
> The poem Lewis was reciting was "I Have a Rendezvous with Death" by Alan Seeger, who was killed in action in World War I. Fans of The Punisher will notice I swapped Lewis' "Go Like A Soldier" with Seeger's poem. I felt my choice lent a more tragic tone to Lewis' demise.
> 
> That's enough rambling out of me. Next chapter's being tidied up, and I'm eager to share it with you guys and gals. I'll catch you at the next update. Have a good one.


	40. Ghosts and Gratitude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shayne prepares to flee. Courtney debriefs with Matt.

Shayne’s boots hit the roof in a hard but controlled landing. His heart was still pounding in his ears by the time he crossed to the zipline’s anchor. His shaky hands dismantled the rope to throw off the police’s trail, if only for a moment. Once that was done, he forced the rooftop access door open. His coat was little more than a shredded collection of fabrics vaguely resembling clothing. Miraculously, the zipper had survived all the gunshots and explosions. The white skull on his vest was mostly concealed as he raced down the apartment complex’s steps. The jagged piece of metal still wedged into his arm had mostly stopped bleeding. The black scraps of fabric kept it largely clear from the glare of the lights above. The hood on his head would do little to conceal his bloodied face, but it was better than nothing.

With a wince and a deep breath, Shayne arrived in the apartment’s lobby. It was a great relief to find it mostly empty. The few people present were pressing their faces up to the windows, trying to peer at the hotel down the street. Shayne took the chance to make his exit before anyone could spare him a glance.

His car was waiting for him, along with multiple tickets tucked under his windshield wiper. Shayne scowled and pocketed the papers. All eyes were on the hotel. Onlookers were watching as smoke continued to billow out of one window. Police had formed a perimeter around the building, while more tactical teams were storming the entrances. Shayne didn’t tempt fate by staying any longer. Nobody was here to slap any more tickets to his windshield. Everyone was too busy with the Royal Hospitality.

Shayne narrowly avoided bumping into the car behind him as he departed. The vague semblance of a plan was being assembled in his head as he drove off.

Detective Raub had positively identified him. After knocking so many Paladins to the ground, Shayne hadn’t really spared his identity any thought. There simply wasn’t any time to do so in the moment. The only thing that mattered was carving a path straight towards Courtney, no matter the resistance. His life or cover story hardly mattered. It was only when he’d heard the detective when it hit him.

And now that Courtney was safe, his mind began to process the dreaded thoughts.

Shayne grit his teeth as he squeezed the steering wheel. He turned the car radio on and tuned in to the news.

_…attack on the Royal Hospitality. We are still awaiting confirmation, but we have received initial reports that former US Army Soldier, Lewis Wilson, is responsible for the attack on the hotel. His targets, Senator Stan Ori, and Smosh journalist, Courtney Miller, are believed to be safe. There are unconfirmed reports of Wilson having an accomplice, who is still at large –_

Shayne shut the radio off and spat a curse under his breath.

Those Paladins saw his face. They saw the vest. The detective called him by name in front of those officers.

The cat was out of the bag now.

Courtney would be investigated as an accessory and possibly charged for harboring him. Leak and Grossman may very well be accused of concealing his identity as well.

Shayne had a tight sneer on his face as he drove – more carefully this time, so as to not draw attention to himself. This was exactly the type of shit he’d been trying to avoid. This was why he pushed Courtney away all those months ago, and why he’d been so hesitant to come back to the city. People like him didn’t just get away from their past. He was doomed to pay for his sins one way or another. It didn’t matter if he’d tried to stop Lewis and save lives – the public was never going to believe that.

Courtney had Keith, Noah, and Olivia. If they weren’t attacked by the new District Attorney, then they’d be able to defend her and prove her innocence. They could –

Shayne slammed his sore knuckles into the wheel and growled, “Fuck!”

He felt a surge of pain along his torso and hissed. The reopened cut was burning now and needed to be sutured _again_. As the adrenaline from the fight wore off, all of the wounds were making themselves known. From the concussive blows of bullets flattening against his vest, to the burning sting of the rounds that had grazed him. Shayne’s entire body throbbed and twisted in agony.

There were pictures of Shayne together with Courtney. Word would come out soon that Bradley Russo and Shayne Topp were one and the same. There was more than enough evidence. It was impossible for any jury to believe that Courtney, who’d been a vocal supporter of Shayne from the start, had no idea that he was Bradley in disguise. He grew his hair out and sported a beard. It’s not like he underwent facial reconstruction to hide his identity.

Maybe he should turn himself in.

Shayne dashed the thought away as quickly as it came.

The world thought he was a terrorist now and not just a mass-murderer. Little good would come from that. That wouldn’t help Courtney. The detective had already learned of his survival prior, back when Reyes woke up. As Courtney had said, Raub didn’t try to find him or turn him in. Maybe he’d look out for Courtney and ensure she wasn’t named as an accomplice.

Besides, those wedding pictures in Courtney’s apartment could easily be destroyed or concealed. There may have been evidence of Bradley and Shayne – like the pictures in his apartment he had no time to destroy, but there was little to his current link to Courtney. Not much could point to Courtney rooming with him or even knowing of his survival. The witnesses would be just as unreliable. The staff in her building never paid the slightest bit of attention to when they entered or left together. She wouldn’t be accused or tried of anything. To the world, she was just his means of escape to flee the hotel.

With his mind made up, Shayne eventually pulled into his parking spot. He retrieved one duffel from the backseat. The loaded guns clanked and smacked together in the bag as he ran up to his apartment.

He’d already prepared for the worst to come. This day was bound to come eventually. Now he just needed to go through the motions he’d exercised in his head.

Shayne locked the door behind him. His tattered coat hit the floor with a muted thud. The vest stayed on. He’d need it for when the police kicked his door in and opened fire.

He set his phone down on his desk and began yanking drawers open. After a few moments, he found the little kit he needed to remove his SIM card. Shayne crushed it underfoot and then powered the phone off. He’d take a hammer to it later for good measure.

The TV turned on with the press of a button, and Shayne switched over to the news. He turned the volume up as he rushed over to his bathroom. Overdosing on painkillers would be one hell of a way to go. His body was probably a little more resilient than that.

Hopefully.

He popped two painkillers and dry-swallowed them. It would take a while for the effect to set in. Hopefully by the time he hit the road, the pain would be more bearable. Shayne limped over to his bedroom as the TV droned on.

The reporter went on about the number of casualties so far, all Paladin security agents. There was another mention of Lewis’ death awaiting confirmation, as well as the identity and status of his accomplice.

Shayne dumped the bag of guns onto his bed and made a beeline for the closet. He pried the false back open and got to work. There were a few more guns and boxes of ammo that he retrieved. They joined the rest in his duffel. His bug-out-bag was already packed and ready to go. It was a hefty thing with an impressive capacity. From clothes to first aid supplies, it contained everything he needed. Shayne drew the large pack out and tossed it onto his bed.

He keyed in the combination to his safe – Lizzy’s birthday, because he was a sap like that – and went over the contents. He grabbed the passports and double-checked them. Bradley Russo’s identity was compromised, but he still had the fallback – Wayne Gordon. He had a driver’s license under the second identity but lacked the rest of the essentials to become fully incognito. Shayne needed Lieberman’s help for that. He grabbed the burner phone and its charger, moving to plug it into his bedside.

The stacks of Schoonover’s drug money were extracted next – more than enough to go on the run and restart in God knows where. Maybe he’d pack flannel and hide out in the mountains like he was thinking. Shayne would miss the internet, but at least he could stop running. He was a fool for thinking this setup with Courtney would last. A piece of shit like him didn’t deserve a normal life.

All the movement was making Shayne’s every muscle ache and pulse with pain. The shrapnel digging into his arm was throbbing. The close graze on his temple was beginning to trickle with blood yet again. It had Shayne weighing his options once more. He could extract the piece of metal now and try to suture the wound. The shot on his head had to be stitched up as well, but both were a waste of time.

There was no telling how soon the cops would kick his door down to arrest him. He was a little woozy on his feet. Blood was still trickling down his pounding head and along his other wounds. Grimly, Shayne knew he still had more blood to bleed out. He could patch himself up after he’d crossed the state border into Pennsylvania. He had to make it at least halfway to Lieberman’s to give him the cash in exchange for the little disappearing act. Once he was over the state border, he could take his time and move more carefully.

Shayne eventually stuffed half of the stacks of cash into his bag as the news buzzed on in the background. The other half remained in the large safe, which he shut and locked. The rest of the closet’s false back was emptied. If Courtney needed the money for legal fees or anything, she knew where to find it. She had the combination with her. It would probably be a while before it was safe for her to pick the money up, but she knew that. Courtney could figure out when it was clear – when there were no cops surveilling his apartment. His girl was smart like that.

Shayne kicked his boot against the wall at the thought.

_His girl._

Shayne scoffed.

It was over. They had their fun. Courtney had dared him to believe in an _after_ , but there was no light at the end of the tunnel. Not for him.

Just another fight. Another reason to flee and never look back.

Shayne scanned his belongings one final time. The duffel and his bug-out bag were packed. All that were left were personal effects. The assortment of pictures he’d taken from his old house had to stay. There was no time to collect everything. He had to prioritize. Maybe one picture with Damien and Billy.

The two photos on his bedside table could be packed first. One of his family from before, in front of the carousel. And the other with Courtney – the family he’d chosen with the hope of an _after_.

Shayne’s eyes were fixed on them both as he slowly walked on over to the end table. Nicole’s loving gaze. Lizzy’s happy smile. Courtney’s fond kiss to his cheek.

The dull ache of his heart joined all the pain that was still radiating across his body. The goddamn painkillers couldn’t kick in soon enough. When he closed his eyes, he could still see Courtney in that musty service elevator. The blood trickling down the side of her head. The smile she wore in spite of it all. Her warm breath and tender moans against his mouth.

His lighthouse – his unflinching rock in the face of the storm – she never faltered. The strength and resolve he could draw just from feeling her touch was supernatural. Those soulful green eyes – fuck, how he loved her eyes – they were so brave in the thick of it. And she was so damn smart. So quick to catch on and find the correct wire.

And so fucking selfless that Shayne could cry then and there. He had been so close to getting on his knees and pleading with her. Because the last thing he ever wanted was to point a gun to her head, unloaded or not. It was those words that did him in again.

_I’m with you._

That moment – not a single ounce of doubt or fear in her voice – that was what convinced Shayne to let her have her way. The charade may have been a hostage taking, but nothing could have been farther from reality. Courtney was willingly shielding him with her own body. She was protecting him from them. Because his girl never had anything but his best interests at heart.

Shayne was so engrossed in his thoughts that he missed the loose floorboard by his bed. His boot snagged on the edge and he flailed to the ground unceremoniously. His head snagged against the end table on the way down, and his vision flickered.

Shayne let out a low groan. The new throbbing bump on his head felt warm and sticky. A quick pat revealed it was indeed bleeding.

“So stupid,” Shayne muttered under his breath.

His heart skipped a beat when a low chuckling filled the air. Deep and masculine, yet as rich and smooth as dark chocolate. It was a sound he knew anywhere. He hadn’t heard it in over a year.

“You only realize that now?” The amused, slick voice teased.

This couldn’t be happening.

Shayne peeled his face off the floor. He craned his neck to peek over his shoulder, slowly and cautiously.

Billy fucking Russo himself was leaning against the doorframe.

Shayne froze.

Billy’s dark hair – which Shayne would argue was far more hipster-like than his own – was shorter on the sides and slicked back at the top. His beard was neatly trimmed and shaped. His tall, lean form was dressed up in a fancy suit that seemed tailored to his figure. The shoes he wore looked like they cost a month’s rent.

“Shayney boy, I know I’m gorgeous, but it’s rude to stare.” Billy was flashing him that signature cat-like grin.

“Oh my God,” Shayne grumbled. He turned fully to face his long-dead best friend. His sore back pressed against the end table. Shayne didn’t trust his legs enough to stand up. Not while Billy was grinning at him like that. He felt a fresh migraine coming to his already pounding skull. “I’ve really gone insane.”

Billy threw his head back with a laugh. It was loud, boisterous, and full of life. It was quintessentially Billy.

Shayne watched with wide, unblinking eyes as Billy approached. His strides had weight and heft to them. The floorboards creaked beneath him like he was really here and not buried six feet under. Billy took a deliberate step over the loose floorboard so he could tower over Shayne.

Billy’s firm hand reached down to Shayne in invitation. He stared at it, dumbfounded. After a few seconds passed, his eyes went to Billy’s dark brown eyes. The corners were crinkled in amusement. Billy always had something to laugh about. He was the life to any party, and he knew it. That easygoing twinkle in his eye was unmistakable.

“Bill, you can’t be real.”

His friend’s smile widened. Then he pursed his lips and shrugged. His hand was still extended when he asked, “Does it matter?”

“Yeah,” Shayne let out a delirious chuckle, “It kinda does.”

Billy’s face crinkled, as if he’d tasted something unpleasant. “Nah. It doesn’t.”

The simplicity and certainty in Billy’s voice was disarming. It was as though he had no choice but to follow along. He accepted Billy’s hand and was hoisted up to his feet. Shayne was so small next to Billy on a regular day. Now, with Billy looking him up and down for injuries, he almost felt like a little kid. His friend’s face was warped with concern as he conducted his inspection.

“You should see the other guy,” Shayne’s inappropriate crack of humor was received with a glare. He couldn’t help it. This was the most bizarre thing to happen to him in recent memory. Attempting to laugh off his mounting insanity was his natural coping mechanism.

“You’re such a dumbass, Shayne.” Billy straightened up, apparently satisfied with Shayne’s bloodied and beaten self. Without warning, he wrapped an arm around Shayne’s shoulder and began dragging him back to the living room. The strength and ease with which Billy moved was so concrete and tangible. As if it were any other day back at base and they were horsing around with the boys. The whiff of his fancy cologne was what made Shayne finally lose it. He’d already lost his mind. Losing his cool composure was the inevitable next step for his dwindling sanity.

Billy stopped when he heard the choked sob that bubbled in Shayne’s throat. Shayne sniffled as Billy’s firm hands steadied his shoulders as they had so many times before. It only made the tears spill out harder.

“Hey, shh,” Billy’s voice was soothing amid the drone of the TV in the next room. The gentle shushing tugged at his heart and eased his nerves like it always did. His hands, rough and callused from handling weapons all day, rubbed at Shayne’s tears. “Shh… you’re okay, Shayne. I got you, man. C’mon, it’s just me.”

Shayne watched through bleary eyes as Billy ducked his head to look at him better. Even with the tears obscuring his vision, Shayne could see him so clearly. He looked just as he did back in those days. Just like the day Shayne lost him. The only other man aside from Damien that he trusted with his life. Handsome, laidback, and more dependable than anyone. The first member of his family he’d lost before the park.

“Just look at me, man. I’m here. I got you, Shayne.” His smooth voice was a balm to Shayne’s burning emotions.

“I’m sorry, Bill,” Shayne’s lip quivered. “In the mountains – you – I should’ve,” He gulped. He could never forgive himself for surviving that night when Billy pushed him out of the way. When Shayne charged into the enemy’s position all by himself, a part of him never wanted to make it out of there. It was an injustice that he did, and Billy didn’t. “It should’ve been me, man. I-”

“Hey,” Billy gave him a firm shake. His thumbs continued brushing at Shayne’s bloody cheeks, clearing the waterworks. “I don’t wanna hear that, okay? I took that mortar shell for you and I’d take it again. I’m not here about that.”

Shayne sniffed back the tears. Billy watched him with those cool, collected eyes, waiting for him to regain his composure. Shayne focused on the all too real pupils staring right into his soul. The surreal chills prickled his skin. That feeling helped swallow back the grief of seeing Billy.

The brief flare in his emotions subsided. All Shayne was left with was confusion. “Billy, you’re not real.” The words stumbled out of Shayne’s clumsy mouth. It earned him a hard eyeroll from Billy.

“Doesn’t matter if I’m real or not. What matters is that I’m here.”

Shayne huffed out a confused, lost laugh, “You’re dead, Billy.”

Very real pain flashed across Shayne’s cheek when Billy slapped him. His jaw was slack as he looked at Billy with appalled eyes.

“You gonna listen or not?” Billy frowned.

“Jesus,” Shayne rubbed his cheek. “Okay.”

“You figure out why I’m here yet? Or do I have to spell it out for you?”

He blinked at Billy. Shayne liked to think he was a fairly smart individual, but he was feeling both dumber and crazier by the second. Billy’s scrutinizing glare wasn’t helping. Shayne looked around his messy bedroom to try and get a grip on reality.

Maybe if he didn’t look at Billy, he would disappear. Maybe then he’d regain control over his sanity.

When Billy slapped his other cheek, Shayne realized that wasn’t the case. It was his turn to glare at Billy, who now flashed him that cat-like grin. He chimed in, “It’s not that hard, Shayney boy.”

“Bill,” Shayne took a deep breath, “I just got shot like eight times – including once in the head. Lewis nearly blew me and Courtney to pieces. I’m,” He let out a disgruntled exhale, “Hallucinating that you’re in the room – so yeah, if you could spell it out for me, that would be great.”

Billy clapped Shayne on the good shoulder once. “I’m here to help you get your head on straight, bud.”

Shayne laughed as he felt the tendrils of insanity slipping around him. “My hallucination is trying to help me get my head on straight? That’s rich – wait!” Shayne raised his hand as Billy prepared to slap him yet again.

Billy was squinting at him, clearly displeased. “You know, this is why Nicki sent me. She didn’t want to put up with your skeptical bullshit.”

Shayne’s mind blanked.

“Y-you talked to Nicki?”

“Bell too,” Billy curled the corner of his lip as he mimicked Bell’s rough drawl, “ _Slap some sense into Topp, would ya?_ ”

Shayne felt his knees grow weak.

“But – Bill, you – you’re,” Shayne winced and raised his hand once more as Billy took aim. When the hand came down, Shayne conceded, “Okay, okay. I’m listening.”

“Shayne, I don’t give a shit if you think I’m some fairy princess spirit, a hallucination, or your subconscious,” Billy’s tone was even and frank, “But I need you to slow down before you throw your life away.”

“My life?” Shayne repeated incredulously, “My life’s over, Billy. Everyone knows I’m alive and thinks I’m a terrorist. I need to get out of here. If you wanna lecture me while I drive, you’re welcome to do so.”

Shayne turned from Billy to go retrieve the bags on his bed. He heaved an exasperated shrug as he added, “Not sure if it’s advisable to talk to my hallucination while driving. We can add that to the list of my traffic tickets today.” Shayne made it a point to avoid the loose floorboard. If he tripped and hit his head again, he was worried Bell was going to appear to kick his ass. Or worse. Nicole herself would smack him around until he listened.

As soon as Shayne bent over to grab the bags, Billy appeared on the opposite side of the bed. He tugged the two bags out of reach, smiling like an asshole the whole time.

“God damnit, Billy – this isn’t the time to play around!”

“This ain’t the time to tuck your tail between your legs and run away either.”

Shayne scoffed and reached for the bags, only for Billy to toss them onto the ground with a loud clatter. Shayne stomped around the bed to recover his belongings. Billy stopped him with a solid hand on his chest.

“If you wanna be a dramatic asshole, go ahead.” Billy pushed him back. “But listen to the news first. Will you do that for me?”

With a frustrated grunt, Shayne turned away. He rolled his aching shoulder as he limped towards the living room. Billy trailed after him with that signature swagger in his step. They eventually came to a stop in front of the Färlöv. Shayne realized he was dripping blood all over the place. He took solace in the fact that it was a slow flow. Most of the worst wounds had clotted up for the time being. Even the bleeding of his torn stitches had been staunched.

Footage of the confusion around the hotel was being played on the news. Lewis’ picture was displayed onscreen as a news anchor was discussing the events.

_… the terrorist, Lewis Wilson, died at the scene. Detective Raub, along with two agents from the FBI, confirmed that Wilson detonated a bomb in the hotel kitchen. He was the only casualty in the blast. Another man is wanted in relation to the attack. There are conflicting reports labeling him as Wilson’s accomplice. Another witness claimed he attempted to stop Wilson. Others yet report he assaulted Senator Ori’s security staff._

_The man was reported to have long, dark blonde hair, a beard, and was last seen wearing a bulletproof vest._

Shayne held his breath as the news anchor appeared. The skull logo of Shayne’s _merch_ was flashed onscreen.

_Now, what’s interesting is that witnesses report to have seen The Punisher’s skull painted onto the vest. This has led many Paladin security agents to believe that the man is a copycat of the late Shayne Topp, who died last year at the height of his trial. As of now, the copycat’s motivations are unknown._

Shayne’s mind blanked yet again.

_Witnesses on the scene, including Detective Raub, report that they were unable to identify the copycat, who used Smosh journalist, Courtney Miller, as a hostage to facilitate his escape. The detective confirmed the copycat’s physical appearance but refused to comment further. This man is wanted for questioning in his involvement in today’s attack. We believe that –_

Shayne’s view of the TV was interrupted by Billy’s wide grin.

“You’re off the hook, buddy.”

Shayne’s head was spinning. The detective had very clearly identified him, even going so far as to call him out by name. If Raub decided to cover for him, Shayne could believe that – but everyone else? There was a small team of officers with him. There was no way all of them would cover for him as well, unless they were all sympathizers. But that was a long shot.

Yet there it was on the news, clear as day. His appearance may have been described, but Bradley Russo hadn’t been named. Shayne Topp was still believed to have been dead since last year.

“Oh my God,” Shayne muttered. The lightheadedness was getting worse by the moment. This day was an emotional rollercoaster and he wanted nothing more than to lie down and pass out. Before or after taking out the shrapnel in his arm. It didn’t matter.

“This can’t be real – don’t hit me!” Shayne snapped as Billy’s hand raised into the air.

Billy complied and lowered his hand. His mischievous face grew serious. “Shayne, most people don’t get second chances like you did. This,” He motioned to the TV, “This is a third chance if I’ve ever seen one.”

It was a chance for him to get the hell out of here while he could. His identity may have been miraculously intact against all odds, but his worst fears had still been realized.

The only reason Lewis wrote to Courtney was because of Shayne and his bloody past. If he’d gotten Courtney to stay away long ago, she wouldn’t have been targeted. She wouldn’t have been nearly riddled with bullets. She wouldn’t have been taken hostage by Shayne’s friend-turned-suicide-bomber. Courtney could’ve been spared all of that grief if he just kept his distance.

It was time he did the right thing and left for good. He was nothing but a shit magnet that attracted the worst luck.

“Shayne…” Billy warned, as if he’d read Shayne’s mind. “Don’t.”

“C’mon, Bill,” Shayne could hear the defeat in his own voice. “I tried this _after_ shit. It didn’t work out. It’s time I faced the facts and got out of here. Sooner I’m gone, the safer Courtney is.”

Billy leaned on the sofa’s backrest and studied Shayne for a moment. “You really think that, huh? You know what your problem is, Shayne?”

Shayne ignored the fact he was arguing with a hallucination. “What, Billy? What’s my problem?”

“You’re too stuck in your own self-blame to see that girl’s the best thing that’s happened to you since the shootout-”

“I know that,” Shayne grumbled and crossed his arms.

“- and you keep thinking you can make these decisions for her. As if she wouldn’t try to track your ass down the moment you got out of town.” Billy bit his lips before adding, “You need to live for yourself, brother. Keep the people that matter close by.”

“Keeping her close is what put a target on her back,” Shayne shot back, “I just spent the last hour trying to keep her alive. I don’t want to go right back to putting her at risk.”

“Life is full of risks, Shayne. Grow up.” Billy’s lecturing tone began to grate on Shayne’s nerves. “We could’ve been shot or blown to pieces every time we stepped out of the wire and into the shit. Did that risk stop us from doin’ our jobs?”

“That’s not the same,” Shayne shook his head, “That was war. This is putting a woman at risk because I’m a killer – that’s all I’m good for.”

Billy scoffed, “That’s bullshit, and you know it. Don’t give me that angsty crap.”

“It’s not,” Shayne raised his fingers up to make air quotes as he glowered, “ _Angsty crap_. It’s the truth.”

“If that were true, then why did you try in the first place, hm? Why become Bradley Russo?” Billy tilted his head in challenge, “Why’d you listen to Nicole and try to live life again?”

Because he was tired. When he killed the last person related to the massacre at Central Park, he was exhausted down to his bruised and hairline-fractured bones. He wanted nothing more than rest and peace, and Courtney’s comforting presence. He wanted to see her smile and feel her embrace. He wanted to hear that soft voice tell him he was more than his body count.

“That’s what I thought,” Billy muttered. He sighed and spoke with a softer voice, “You remember what I told you that night? Before that fight in the mountains?”

Shayne gulped. He did.

They’d endured one of their toughest weeks in their entire careers. Brutal fighting in close quarters and dim, claustrophobic caves day in day out. The deafening cracks of their rifles, the bright muzzle flashes in the darkness, the shouts of wounded men – those nights haunted Shayne’s dreams from time to time. After spending the better part of the day on patrol, Schoonover had them gear up for a close reconnaissance operation in the Hindu Kush. It was an ill-advised plan. Both Shayne and Billy had vocally objected to proceeding with the operation because it looked like a trap. The colonel pulled rank, and they were forced to prepare.

That evening when everyone was catching shuteye before dusting off, Billy was lying in bed. His head was propped up on his pack, and he was fiddling with his phone, a wide grin on his face. Shayne later learned he was messaging that girl of his from back stateside. She must have been something special, because Billy the Beaut himself wanted to come home to her.

Billy went on to talk about how he was tired. How Kandahar was different from the rest of their time in the Marines. How something stunk and he didn’t understand why Schoonover couldn’t see it. Little did they know that they were being manipulated into becoming the colonel’s personal hit squad.

There was a moment in which Billy was uncharacteristically fatalistic. He felt that Kandahar would be the death of them if they didn’t get out soon enough. Their luck was running out and he didn’t want to be stuck in some hole in Afghanistan when it did. Billy intended to file for discharge once they got back from the operation that evening.

Then, Billy told Shayne that they needed to focus on what was important – to Shayne, Nicole and Lizzy. To Billy, his newfound love.

Shayne wasn’t sure what it was about that moment that convinced him. Maybe a part of him had felt what Billy was feeling – tired, wanting to get out, go home to the important part of his life. Maybe the sincere twinkle in Billy’s eyes is what did it. Never in their decade of friendship had Billy wanted to come home just for a woman.

So, Shayne agreed. Once they returned from the operation, they would file the paperwork accordingly. They’d go home.

But it never worked out that way. Billy lost his life in those mountains. Shayne went back stateside not long after, only to lose his family within a day of reuniting with them.

“Go home, Shayne,” Billy repeated and snapped Shayne out of his thoughts. “Focus on what’s important – _who’s_ important. You don’t have a lot of family left. Dames, Alice, Courtney – keep them close.”

Shayne felt the fight leave him as Billy bore into him with those caring eyes. But in a move that was so characteristically Billy, he started going for the low blows.

“You promised Nicole,” Billy wore that cat-like smile. “You told her you’d find home, and I ain’t leavin’ until I’m sure you’re keeping that promise. She’d kick my ass if I don’t do my job.”

It startled a laugh out of Shayne. He could imagine it. Nicole and Billy bickered like siblings. Shayne wouldn’t put it past his wife to threaten Billy with violence if he failed to set him straight.

But again – these were his vivid hallucinations that were a sign of his deteriorating mental health.

Shayne shook off the thought in favor of looking at Billy. He leaned on the sofa’s backrest expectantly, waiting for a reply. His long fingers idly tapped against the fabric.

“I found home,” The thought of Courtney’s bright eyes and hungry kisses made his heart ache. “But I…”

Before he could spit out an excuse, Billy’s lip curled once more, and he mimicked Bell’s accent, “ _Ya found that goddamn pot o’ gold at the end o’ the shit-stained rainbow, Topp. You hold on with two hands, son. You don’t let go_.”

The impression was uncanny enough to send a chill down Shayne’s spine. He shouldn’t have been surprised by that. Shayne learned his impression skills from Billy.

“Billy, I tried to hold on, okay?” Shayne took a breath, “I just don’t want her getting caught up in my shit again. I can’t lose her, man. And besides, I…”

Shayne stared at his hands. They were stained and sticky with his own blood. That wasn’t what bothered him. What was clawing and gnashing at his insides was all his hands had done. All the blood they’d spilt and all the lives they’d taken. He’d lost exact count of all the criminals he’d murdered. But what never left him were the moments he pulled the trigger. Each shitbag he put in the ground, he remembered. Try to avoid it as he might, they haunted him too. The thoughts may have become easier to push out of his troubled mind, but they were always lingering in the recesses of his psyche. He couldn’t make peace with them like he had with Nicole and Lizzy.

The sins on his bloody hands would follow him to the grave. Even when he tried to do things the right way – like with Lewis – shit just hit the fan anyway. He didn’t try hard enough, both in that moment Lewis locked himself in the freezer, and back before Lewis’ mental health had dipped dangerously low. The red flags were there. They had built up.

Shayne knew better, but he _wasn’t_ better. All of this could’ve been avoided if he proactively reached out. He should’ve actively fought off O’Connor’s influence. Spent more time with Lewis. Taught him to deal with his trauma. Got him professional help. But Shayne had failed Lewis with disastrous consequences. Now his young friend’s death was added to his body count. It made him nauseas. Lewis’ pained and twisted face joined the annals of all the men he’d killed. Shayne had never felt sicker.

“I’m not good,” Were the words the sputtered out of Shayne’s mouth.

Billy squinted at him. “What?”

“I – look, Bill. I’m a piece of shit, right? Everything I do blows up in my face – maybe it’s karma,” Shayne heaved an exaggerated shrug, “Whatever it is, it’s not good enough for Courtney. _I’m_ not good enough for her.”

“You’re so full of shit, brother,” Billy muttered with a tilt of his head.

“Yeah,” Shayne took a step forward. “I am. That’s why I can’t be with her, okay? That woman – she deserves the goddamn best. Courtney’s the best damn thing that’s happened to me since the park, okay? I _know_ that,” He scoffed, more at himself than anyone else, “But I can’t, Bill. She deserves someone better than my broken, miserable ass.”

“Shayne,” Billy pushed off the sofa’s backrest. “It’s not up to you to say what Courtney does or doesn’t deserve. She’s her own woman. If she thinks you’re good enough for her, then you are. If she wants you, then she wants,” He thumped Shayne’s chest, “You.”

“Billy…”

Billy rolled his eyes and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Okay, Shayne. Answer me one thing then.”

“What?”

“Why’d you kiss her in the elevator?”

Shayne’s throat went dry. In all the rush and panic, he hadn’t had the time to really think back to their bloody, steamy make out.

At the core of it was relief. They’d come so close to losing each other. A single second later and Lewis would’ve –

Shayne gulped and repulsed the thought. It was too painful to even imagine.

The relief was overwhelming. He was so dead tired. Every part of his body had ached with pain – it still did – and he still had to make the climb to the roof. When he saw Courtney there looking at him, all his walls broke down. The realization had truly sunken in during that moment.

_Courtney, you go! Go now!_

_Fuck no! Not without you! Come on!_

For some time now, the words _I’m with you_ had been used as an intimate placeholder for another infamous three-word phrase. It was then that it hit him so raw and hard. How Courtney had just been freed from a hostage situation but was already prepared to stand with him during Lewis’ final moments. That was commitment and companionship on a whole new level.

Courtney had chosen him. Instead of the safety of rushing off to the police officers, Courtney stood with him.

And there she was in the elevator, staring at him with those gorgeous eyes. She was alive. She was in one piece. And by God, she was with him.

He basked in the relief. In her steady presence supporting him by the forehead. He could soak her all up and still be craving for more. Just the faint scent of vanilla in her hair amid the smoke, sweat, and blood did things to him. It simultaneously made his knees weak yet gave him the drive to continue fighting. Being so close to her in that elevator after so much had transpired – it was a sensory overload to him. She inadvertently broke his last walls down like a collapsing dam.

His fears be damned, he gave into all the repressed feelings. They survived the worst. They deserved the moment to celebrate and rest. The world outside could’ve burned to the ground and Shayne wouldn’t have cared in that moment. They were alive. It was the only thing that mattered. Shayne, as Billy told him, focused on what was important and right in front of him. He only had eyes for Courtney in that moment.

Shayne kissed her because life had proven to be too goddamn short to be chickenshit.

He kissed her because he loved her.

Shayne loved her for some time now. He knew it deep down. That was why he was so scared to begin with. Why he wanted to run for the hills. Why he wanted to push her away and let someone better and more whole take her. It was the first time he had felt love as strongly as he did for Nicole. While he would never dare compare the two women, the intensity of his feelings was undeniable. They’d grown and evolved so much across the months. From the meals they shared in the hospital, to the visitations in Rikers, and to their budding unlabeled relationship after his war had ended – it was love. There was no other word for it.

“You love her,” Billy said it out loud when he lacked the strength to do so. “This is your chance, Shayne. You two have been there for each other ever since she embedded with the lawyers. Sticking to you was her decision. No amount of your self-pity is gonna change that.”

With a sigh, Shayne answered quietly, “I know, man. It’s just…” The hesitation and fear were difficult to overcome.

“Make it mean something, Shayne.”

Billy showcased his uncanny ability to hit him where it hurt. It was just enough to make him cave in.

Shayne finally relented, “Okay.” That single word – an implicit promise to Billy and everyone else that was long gone – lifted a weight off of his chest. He wouldn’t run or hide from his feelings any longer. It was time he faced Courtney like a man.

Though he should probably take the jagged scrap of metal out of his arm first. Everything below that elbow was starting to tingle in what was undoubtedly a bad sign.

Billy stood tall in front of Shayne. He set his hands on either of Shayne’s shoulders and looked him in the eye. “If you’re gonna be chickenshit later when you see her,” Billy leaned in. He had a threatening glint in his eye coupled with a mischievous smirk, “I’m gonna have to slap you around again.”

“Yes, sir.” Shayne gave a mock salute, earning a chuckle from Billy.

The mirth on Billy’s face soon fell away. His expression grew serious once more while his thumbs brushed against the ruined fabric of his shirt. His dark, worried eyes ran over Shayne’s bloodied face and battered body. It was one of the rare instances in which Billy appeared lost for words. Nobody talked with as much fervor and life as Billy. To see him frowning and clenching his jaw was disconcerting. It sent a little lump back up Shayne’s throat.

“What’s wrong, Bill?”

Billy frowned and shook his head. “You look like shit, brother.” Gently, he tugged Shayne forward. His lips pressed a slow, caring kiss to Shayne’s forehead. “Go get cleaned up.”

There was little ceremony or finesse to Billy’s next motions. Instead of that feline-like grace and agility, Billy lumbered a step to the side. He wrapped a heavy arm around Shayne’s shoulder before turning him in the direction of the bedroom and bathroom. Billy pushed Shayne forward to urge him on. Shayne stumbled on shaky, weak legs.

He'd only gotten two steps forward when he turned around, “Hey, Billy…”

His apartment was empty.

Billy was gone.

Shayne blinked and looked forward.

He was lying on the ground next to his bedside table. The fresh bruise on his head was throbbing with a dull pain, and slick with fresh blood. In the background, the TV droned on about the attack on the hotel, Lewis’ demise, and the unidentified person-of-interest still at large.

He’d blacked out.

Shayne knew he should have felt some relief from that. In the fact he wasn’t hallucinating and going insane seeing his dead best friend. Instead, all he felt was a fresh wave of loss crashing over him. For the second time, Billy didn’t give him the chance to say goodbye.

Shayne didn’t fight the tears when he caught the faintest whiff of Billy’s cologne. He gave in to the surge of emotions, pressing fingers to the warm spot on his forehead where his brother’s lips had been. Imagined or not – they felt more real than the very ground he was lying on.

* * *

It was another fifteen minutes until the police were able to get the service elevator open. Courtney had taken that time to bawl her eyes out. All the sorrow and pain she felt for Shayne came to a tipping point. Shayne had escaped out the hatch and took her heart along with him. She was left with a numbing sense of dread in her hollowed chest.

The first responders pulled Courtney out and cleaned the cuts on her face. They escorted her free of the hotel. She followed along wordlessly; feet moving on autopilot. It didn’t take long for Matt to intercept her before Ian, Anthony, and Max could.

Courtney refused to say a word without her legal representation. Neither her gun nor her phone had been returned to her, so Matt obliged and phoned up Leak and Grossman, who were already on the way. Traffic was going to be hell with this fresh disaster in its aftermath, so they would take a while.

In the meantime, Matt took her to the only private spot available – his car. It was a cramped sedan that smelled of cigar smoke – probably his mother’s doing – but it got the job done. Courtney refused the coffee Matt offered her, choosing to stare out the window with arms crossed and eyes damp. She alternated between toying with the sleeves of her torn blouse, and fiddling with the ripped fabric of her skirt. As far as Courtney was concerned, Matt blew Shayne’s cover and was going to turn the whole city against him. She had no words for Matt until Leak and Grossman arrived. She didn’t need to incriminate herself any further.

With a heavy sigh, Matt broke the silence in his car. “Courtney, I understand you don’t want to say anything right now. But will you at least listen to me?”

Courtney gave a noncommittal shrug.

Matt reached over to the console and unplugged the dashcam. He tinkered with it for a moment to ensure it wasn’t recording. Once he was satisfied, he motioned out towards the busy scene ahead. “Look over there.”

Reluctantly, Courtney followed the path of his pointer finger. There was a small tactical team by one of the NYPD’s armored vehicles. They were in the process of doffing their helmets and balaclavas.

“Those are my officers from the 15th,” Matt explained. “That’s Sarah Fisher,” A woman with a small, sturdy frame, and raven black hair. “Ryan Bunch,” A short but stocky man. “Monika Pearson,” A blonde woman sporting a bob cut and sharp features. “And I think you remember Chris Martin,” The tall, dark man with glasses – the guy who setup Shayne’s memorial in Central Park.

“The rest with them – they’re other survivors from the attack on the 15th.” A faint hope blossomed in Courtney’s chest. “None of them are ever gonna forget what Topp did for them,” With a sigh, Matt rubbed at his reconstructed left thumb, “ _I_ won’t forget what Shayne did.”

“I talked to the feds and they don’t know anything we don’t. Paladin on the other hand…” Matt fiddled with the lid of his coffee cup, “They saw his face and that freaky bulletproof vest. The Punisher’s never been seen wearing a vest like that. Never been seen looking like a homeless hipster with that hair or beard either. They think he’s some kind of copycat.”

With a subtle quirk of his lip, Matt added, “Those guys that did see him also got their heads smacked pretty hard. They say it all happened so fast that they can’t tell what he looked like beyond the shaggy hair and beard. He also fired a couple of rounds at them, but nobody was hit. The senator told a funny story but couldn’t describe the second man other than _short_.”

Courtney snorted. Along with the brief amusement came the realization dawning on her. The point Matt was making was –

“The only people that identified Shayne are me and the survivors of the attack on the 15th.” Matt wore a cautious smile in his attempt to break her from her shell. It was working.

Courtney finally spoke up, “What about cameras?”

“Wilson cut off all the surveillance feeds to cover his approach. Your boy Topp is gonna need to get a haircut and a shave but his identity’s safe.” Matt added with a scoff, “Bradley Russo too.”

Courtney’s heart skipped a beat. “Wait – you knew?”

“Courtney,” Matt blew out an exasperated sigh, “I’ve had his mugshot pinned to my board for months. It shouldn’t come as a surprise that I’d recognize him under all that hair back at Smosh. What surprised me today was seeing him take you hostage in the middle of a terrorist attack. I wasn’t sure what was going on back there at first…” Matt squinted at her, “But I’m guessing that was all part of the plan, huh?”

The instinct to lawyer up and avoid saying anything else was strong. Yet Matt was all but confirming that nobody was going to rat Shayne out. Before Courtney could negotiate for his silence, Matt beat her to it.

“The team doesn’t want to say a word. After everything, they think it’s pretty obvious Topp was here to save lives today, not take them. The only casualties are Wilson and a handful of Paladin agents. It’s obvious to us that was Wilson’s doing.” Matt took a long gulp from his cup before explaining, “The story we’re working with is that we saw a blonde, bearded guy in a coat – that’s it. He used you as a human shield to escape and that’s all we saw. Our investigation so far shows he escaped through the roof, but we don’t know where to. Not a lot of cameras in the nearby streets either, so those are unlikely to catch him. We don’t know who he is or what his motive was. We can neither confirm nor deny if he was working with or against Wilson.”

A laugh bubbled out of Courtney’s dry throat. She held a hand over her mouth as she looked at Matt. She couldn’t help it – this was all too good to be true. This wasn’t the sort of luck Courtney had. She attracted stalkers and suicide bombers. Not the good fortune of grateful police officers willing to keep a secret.

“Matt, you’re for real? You’re not pulling my leg here?” Courtney tried not to sound so dubious. She failed.

Matt gave an almost offended scoff at the doubt she was leveling him with. He picked the second coffee cup up and extended it towards her once more. Courtney accepted it as Matt said, “I’m for real, Court. But on one condition.”

She held her breath.

“Tell those clowns Ian and Anthony to stop sending my mom cigars. That chimney is ready to pick a fight whenever she asks if I’m not helping those _two nice boys from the internet_.”

For the first time since Courtney was pried out of that elevator, she genuinely laughed.

“Okay,” Courtney smiled. “I think I can arrange that.”

Matt returned the smile and asked, “You willing to talk now?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I am. Wait, what was the senator’s statement?”

Matt snorted and shook his head. With a wry smile, he recounted the tale spun to him. “After the door was blown in, he got you to safety while Wilson shot the guards. While he was shielding you from Wilson, a short man arrived and started shooting at Wilson. Senator Ori then picked up a dropped handgun and began firing at Wilson to cover your escape. Unfortunately, Wilson grabbed ahold of you while he ran to get help.”

Courtney didn’t know whether to be pissed or to laugh her ass off. The snake was painting himself as a hero.

The incredulous smile crept up onto her face first. Courtney pressed the back of her knuckles to her mouth. She had to bite down to stop the absurd giggles from popping out.

It was the stupidest fucking thing she’d heard all year. And she’d been roommates with Shayne. He said a lot of dumb shit to make her laugh.

“I’m guessing our good senator may have stretched the truth,” Matt watched her with an amused glint in his eye.

“Yeah. No shit, Sherlock.”

Courtney recounted the story from her point of view. Senator Ori’s cowering and pleading. How he nearly hid behind her as she begged Lewis not to shoot. Shayne diving in front of her to catch the bullets Lewis fired. When she escorted the senator to cover while Lewis and Shayne exchanged shots. The round Shayne took to the head. The subsequent gunfire Courtney returned to keep Lewis suppressed.

“Wait – Topp got shot in the head _again_?”

“Yeah, you know, I keep telling him,” Courtney’s tone dripped with sarcasm, “It’s a real bad habit. He needs to knock that off.”

Matt rolled his eyes as Courtney explained it was a graze and not a direct hit. His expression then hardened when Courtney relayed how the senator pushed her straight into Lewis’ grasp.

“What a fucking coward,” Matt muttered with a growl.

Courtney went over the brief scuffle with Lewis and the big reveal of his suicide vest. The story went on. By the time Courtney finished, Matt’s face was set into a deep frown. The tip of his finger looked raw from rubbing against the edge of his coffee cup.

“Court, I’m really sorry you had to go through all that.”

With a weak smile, Courtney shrugged. “I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for Shayne.”

Matt stared ahead at the first responders still dealing with the aftermath. Slowly and contemplatively, he explained, “I’ll never condone what Topp did to those criminals before or after he _died_. I’m a detective, Court. I’m with the NYPD,” Matt turned his bearded face towards her, “It’s my job to find him and bring him in. The law’s the law. But…”

He glanced at the jagged scar on his thumb. Yet his dark eyes appeared to be staring right through it. Courtney could read that thousand-yard stare easily. The thundering machinegun fire. His officers dropping dead one after the other. A high caliber round nearly ripping his digit off completely. The smell of blood mixing in with the gunpowder in the air.

“When Topp surrendered to keep Officer Martin safe, he didn’t know he was walking out of that one alive.”

“No,” Courtney muttered, “He didn’t.”

“It was…” Matt huffed, “To him, it was the right thing to do. That was all he cared about.”

His brow was furrowed as he reiterated, “All of us who survived the precinct siege – we owe Topp our lives. Today,” He gestured towards the hotel, “He saved lives. Who knows how many civilians or officers would’ve been hurt if Wilson detonated that bomb elsewhere?”

“That’s all he wanted, Matt,” Courtney licked her dry lips. “Shayne doesn’t want to fight anymore.”

The disappointment in the sigh Matt heaved was palpable. “Then what about the Russians at the docks last week?”

Courtney disguised her anxiety with indifference. She bobbed one shoulder with a shrug. “You know I’m not saying anything without-”

“Your legal counsel,” Matt waved her off. “I know. I won’t push it, Court. But you should know there’s no physical evidence tying him to that scene. Just the M.O.” He smirked like a schoolteacher discussing a naughty but endearing student. Not like a detective reviewing New York’s most prolific vigilante. “Not a lot of people can take out a ring of human traffickers and come out alive. It was pretty obvious to us that it was his work.”

“Matt, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Courtney crossed her arms once more. She swished her cup of coffee around and avoided eye contact. “Just get to the point so I can go home, please.”

“My point, Courtney, is that if Topp wants to live a peaceful life, it’s all or nothing. He can’t have one foot in the game and expect to keep getting away with it.” Matt had turned in his seat to face her properly. His frown was stern and serious. “Sooner or later, he’s gonna leave evidence behind. The 15th – Hell’s Kitchen – we’re only one precinct, Court. We can’t cover for him forever.”

“You can deny his involvement in that all you want,” Matt shrugged, “Doesn’t matter. We’re not going after him for that. Just get him to keep his nose clean, and we won’t have any problems. Okay?”

Courtney studied Matt’s bearded face for a beat. She had no reason to doubt him. All she found on his face was honesty and gratitude for the help Shayne had given long ago.

“Okay.” The things Shayne said while trying to get Lewis to back down popped back into mind. “Matt, do you know what happened to Damien Haas?”

Matt’s brows rose in recognition, “Yeah, he called 911 and said he found Wilson’s bombmaking hideout. My officers said he wasn’t lookin’ too good. Got into a scuffle with Wilson and had a bomb strapped to his chest,” He blew out an exasperated breath, “Can’t imagine what that must’ve been like.”

Then there was that suspicious squint again as Matt thought aloud, “I’m guessing Haas didn’t actually defuse the bomb by himself.”

Courtney glanced at the disabled dashcam before turning back to Matt. This was off the record. Matt had already given his word. “Shayne didn’t exactly elaborate on that, but yeah. I don’t think Damien did it himself.”

Slowly, Matt nodded his head as if parsing the thoughts over. “If Topp covered his tracks, then Haas’ story of dealing with it himself should be solid.”

Courtney let the silence hang for a pause. Shayne was nothing if not thorough. She was willing to bet he managed to leave no trace of his presence in O’Connor’s home. The guy was a Scout Sniper after all. Being unseen and untraceable was part of the job.

“The feds are going to want to take your statement once we’re done,” Matt’s eyes shifted towards one of the nicer SUVs parked in the chaotic scene before them. “They’re dealing with the senator now. We need to get your story straight.”

It was easy from there. Courtney would largely tell the truth, but with a few outtakes. She had no clue who the second man was that barged in after Lewis. She didn’t know why he saved her life or came after Lewis. Because of her highly emotional and frazzled state, she could not remember the things that the mystery man said in the kitchen. All she remembered was discreetly being guided to pull out a white wire. After the scuffle, she tried to escape, but was held at gunpoint until Lewis set the bomb off.

Too dazed from the blast, Courtney was unable to flee the kitchen. The mystery man dusted himself off and took her hostage with her own gun. He used her as a shield to reach the service elevator. Courtney was forced to watch helplessly as the bloodied, bearded stranger pulled the emergency stop. After unloading her gun, he handed it back to her and escaped out the elevator shaft without saying a word.

Agents Rhett and Link ate the story up, none the wiser. They sympathized with her as an innocent woman targeted by Lewis, and then callously used by the second man as a tool of escape. According to them, the Paladins who took a beating confirmed that the mystery man in the vest didn’t kill anyone that they knew of. While some guards had perished in the attack, most were in agreement that Lewis was guilty of that.

But just the same, the agents were stumped. They had no idea why this man risked his life to save her and stop the bomber. With a wry smile, Courtney pushed the copycat story. If this copycat was a real follower of Shayne, then he knew how close Courtney had gotten to him. He would know to keep innocents safe and not harm any other people in the process. The federal agents were skeptical but found no clearer working theory. A copycat that admired The Punisher and possibly had beef with Lewis was the best they had. It was more believable in part due to the rise in vigilantism in New York City ever since The Punisher hit the news.

Courtney’s blood ran cold at one point when Agent Rhett had tilted his head and asked her, “You don’t think Topp is back from the dead and watching over you, is he?”

But just as quickly, he burst into laughter. Agent Link nudged him in the ribs until he behaved. He apologized to her for his partner’s sense of humor, and that was the end of that. Offhandedly, they told Courtney they would continue the investigation into this copycat.

“But just between you and me,” Agent Link had leaned in, “This might not go anywhere.”

The agent explained there weren’t enough witnesses to corroborate the narrative that he was helping Lewis. The copycat vigilante angle was the most likely – even Senator Ori couldn’t deny that the second man fired at Lewis and not at them. Obviously, assaulting security agents and taking a woman hostage were still against the law – hence why the search had to continue. But apparently, America had more pressing threats, especially since Lewis himself was dealt with. The case would grow cold in due time, especially if Courtney published her experience of this day.

Once all the questioning was over, the relief finally had time to settle in. Courtney hadn’t even needed to rope Keith, Noah, or Olivia into the mess. If anything, she had to apologize to them for wasting their time and asking them to come to the site of the bombing. She was scot-free of any suspicion or scrutiny. Her rotten luck had finally taken a turn for the better.

The next half hour was a blur of retrieving her .380 and her phone, and then questions and retelling to her friends what had happened. Max had nearly pounced at her to lick her face off when they reunited. Ian had gotten him safely out of the lobby once shit hit the fan. It looked like they were almost friends now. Anthony had arrived as well from the office to check in with her and the camera crew that had been setting up. Once they were all reassured of her being in one piece, Courtney had to scram. Keith offered to drive her.

Courtney was anxiously stewing in the passenger seat while Max panted at the back. Shayne wasn’t answering any of her texts or calls. Her next fear was slowly being realized.

Shayne was skipping town. Whether or not he’d seen the news, it was his inevitable instinct to flee the city. Courtney had seen his assortment of fake IDs and passports. Schoonover’s stolen drug money. His bug-out-bag and stash of guns. It wouldn’t take Shayne five minutes to gather all his belongings before escaping. He’d planned for this day the moment he assumed the identity of Bradley Russo.

Keith understood her urgency and was driving as fast as he could to Shayne’s apartment. The congested roads slowed their pace and drove Courtney’s anxiety up the wall. Every moment they delayed was another in which Shayne finalized his retreat. She had no way of reaching out to him. The only hope she had was to intercept him at his apartment before he left. Otherwise, she had to try and piece together the mystery of where he escaped to.

Shayne had walked out of her life once, and Courtney wasn’t about to let him do it again. She’d track the idiot down to the ends of the earth if she had to. He was safe, nobody was looking for him, and this was their chance at finally having their goddamn _after_. Courtney hadn’t spent half an hour as Lewis’ hostage just to let Shayne go.

To deal with her rising panic, Courtney focused her energy elsewhere. She dialed up Alice, who picked up on the third ring.

“Hello? Courtney?” Alice’s smooth voice was tinged with worry.

“Alice, are you okay? Are you with Damien?”

Alice stuttered for a moment before clearing her throat and responding, “Y-yeah, we’re together. We’re in Metro-General. What about you? I just saw the news!”

Courtney waved a hand in dismissal as she spoke over the phone, “I’m okay, Alice. I mean – sure, a little shaken, but I’m in one piece.” She bit her lip for just a moment before deflecting the attention back onto the more important matters, “What about Damien? How is he?”

Alice’s deep sigh was audible from the other end of the line. “He’s pretty beat up, Court. But he’s…” A pause. “He’s okay. He’ll be fine. They just want to run some tests to make sure there’s no internal damage from the fight.”

“Oh, Alice.” Courtney frowned. She couldn’t begin to imagine how Damien must have felt. Getting beaten down by a former friend was one thing. But the bomb? Shit – the helplessness and dread must have been overwhelming.

“What about…” Alice’s voice lowered to a hush, “What about Gerbil? Is he safe?”

Courtney found herself laughing softly at that damned callsign. For just a moment, she was back there in Shayne’s apartment. She had a screwdriver in hand as she put together his chair. He crouched not far away, assembling his desk, and recounting the name’s origins.

Her laughter took a bitter turn as the gravity and reality of the situation set back in. “I dunno, Alice. He got pretty messed up and had to leave in a hurry. They haven’t ID’d him but…”

“He’s in the wind?” Alice asked.

“Knowing him, yeah.” Courtney fiddled with the hem of her ruined blouse. “I’m on my way to his apartment now. Hopefully, I can catch him before he tries to leave town.”

“You find him and don’t let him out of your sight, okay? I gotta go now, Court. Doctor’s here.”

Courtney shifted the phone in her hand as she replied, “I will, Alice. I’ll keep you updated.”

As they were saying their goodbyes, Shayne’s place came into view. Keith pulled up and the sight of Shayne’s crookedly parked Civic nearly made her cry with relief.

“You talk some sense into that boy, Court Bourt. Stay safe, you hear?”

Courtney pulled Keith in for a grateful hug. Max joined her as she exited the car. He tugged on his leash in his urgency to run up over to Shayne’s apartment. Courtney made her way up, not a single care in the world for the rips or bloodstains on her blue blouse.

She fumbled with the spare key, missing the hole several times before she got it right. Through the door, Courtney could make out the drone of Shayne’s TV, sounding like the news. Courtney pushed the door open once the locks were undone. She hastily shut the door behind her and secured it.

The moment Courtney sent her eyes forward, she saw him.

Shayne was lying on the ground in a heap, all the way in his bedroom. He was pushing himself up on shaky arms, and his entire body was trembling.

Courtney and Max all but sprinted over to his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I apologize for the delay. To offer a little insight into my writing process, I don't publish a chapter until the first draft for the succeeding chapter is complete. It helps maintain continuity and cohesiveness between chapters. Since these last chapters all dovetail straight into each other and *are* the final chapters, I really took my time with them. The good news is I expect to put out the final chapter (next) and the epilogue (the real last chapter) within the week.
> 
> The infamous Billy Russo makes an appearance! This was a super experimental storytelling device to use, and I hope you enjoyed it. With Billy, you hear so much about him throughout the entire story, but you never really see him until this chapter, unlike in Nicole's case where she has heart-to-hearts with Shayne when he's out cold. I hope you enjoyed reading about him, because I certainly enjoyed writing his character. It felt fitting to me that he would be the one to talk Shayne into staying. I wanted to really nail down that brotherly relationship between them. Like you can see how Shayne picked up a lot from Billy, such as how he calms people down.
> 
> Those who've seen The Punisher will know Billy is actually the main antagonist of the series who betrayed Frank and played a part in his family's death. He's a well written, well acted, and despicable character. I wanted to repurpose him for this story simply because he's just so enjoyable to watch, and I would've loved to see him as a good guy. So this is my take on if Billy didn't get greedy and join Schoonover.
> 
> And on a final note: Shayne seeing Nicole and Billy while unconscious - a visit from their spirits? His subconscious? Hit his head too many times? It's certainly open to your interpretation, but I do have a personal headcanon. I'll catch you guys and gals at the next update. Have a good one.


	41. Pot of Gold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Courtney and Shayne look towards the future. Towards after.

Courtney couldn’t help but shoot glances at Shayne. He was sitting on the lidded toilet. His hands were reaching for the straps of his vest. Every movement was causing him to wince hard. He hadn’t said a word since she arrived. He wordlessly complied when she told him to go to the bathroom so she could stitch him up. Courtney had gotten Shayne’s good arm over her shoulder and ushered him to the bathroom. Max watched them the whole time, anxiously whining at their heels. Now he was sitting at the bathroom doorway like a dutiful guard.

Shayne was sniffling and wiping at the tears on his face. He offered no explanation as to why he was weeping when she arrived. He would tell her when she was ready, and Courtney wouldn’t push it until then. At the moment, there were more important things to worry about.

Like the fact he wasn’t asking for her help to get the vest off. Courtney dried her hands and moved closer to Shayne. She’d need to wash them again before getting to work, but that was inconsequential. What she _needed_ to do was to get Shayne to stop cringing and gritting his teeth while trying to undo his vest.

Courtney took his bloodstained hands and set them down onto his lap. The movement caused him to pause and look up at her.

“C’mon, let me help you. How do I take this off?”

Had Shayne’s condition not been so worrisome, there would be a handful of jokes on the tip of her tongue. Just like how there were a handful of pieces of clothing she wouldn’t mind taking off of him –

Damnit. Focus.

Shayne blinked back the tears, apparently none the wiser to the brief tangent her mind had gone on. He cleared his throat, “Here.”

With Shayne’s directions and minimal movement, Courtney unstrapped his bulletproof vest. It came off with little more fuss and landed on the floor with a heavy thud. Shayne’s torso was pleasingly intact. The vest had done its job. The sight underneath his black shirt was likely to be less pleasant.

Because of the jagged shrapnel embedded into his arm, there was no way Shayne’s bloodstained shirt was coming off in one piece. Courtney quickly washed her hands once more before slipping on a pair of surgical gloves. Shayne’s bug out bag had a trauma kit within. While it was nowhere near as impressive or exhaustive as hers, it had enough to deal with the task at hand. There were a few cold compresses too, which were already stuffed into the freezer. Courtney drew a pair of scissors and stepped closer to Shayne.

Slowly, he was regaining his composure. The sniffs and the flow of tears were becoming infrequent. His damp eyes brimmed with emotion as he watched her.

“I hope you’re not too attached to that shirt.”

Shayne cracked the smallest smile imaginable. “I can get another.”

Nodding, Courtney bent down and began snipping the fabric away. She listened to Shayne’s breath, previously shallow and shuddering, even out. Within moments, the black and blood-soaked Henley came apart.

The shining gold of the wedding ring dangling around his neck was a stark contrast to its surroundings. His chest and abdomen were a gnarly shade of blue and dark purple. Some splotches were red and were taking their time to join the mass of bruises around them. The knife wound on his torso was partially reopened and blood was trickling down. Courtney’s eyes ran over his body once more before easing him into bending over a little. The bruises were just as bad on his back, which meant he’d taken even more bullets in his pursuit of her to the hotel kitchen. There were some smaller cuts on his back and arms as well – a result of the explosion in the kitchen. Most looked like they would heal fine on their own with a little clean up and care.

Then there was the bloody mess on the side of his head. Now that she got a good look at the graze, she could tell it was barely over two inches long. It wasn’t deep, but head wounds were head wounds – they bled like hell and looked scarier and gnarlier than they really were. It still needed a thorough cleaning and a few stitches, but it wasn’t critical now that the bleeding had nearly come to a full stop. Apart from the gunshot wound, there were numerous, smaller cuts that had also stopped bleeding – save for one fresh cut that was paired with a bruise on his forehead.

There was also the obvious piece of metal stuck in Shayne’s arm. The sooner it was removed, the better. Less chance of infection that way. Courtney was optimistic because of how much he’d been moving the arm. The mobility meant nothing major had been torn or severed. There was no internal damage that a surgeon needed to correct. The only challenge would be suturing up the wound fast. It would bleed heavily once the shrapnel was taken out.

The slow trickle of the reopened cut on his abdomen bumped it down the priority list. The shrapnel definitely had to go first.

A glance at Shayne’s dark jeans didn’t reveal much. If she had to guess based on the rips in the denim, the wounds on his legs weren’t critical either. But just the same, they needed proper assessment and treatment.

“Shayne, I’m gonna need you to take your pants off.”

Shayne was staring up at her like she hadn’t said anything.

“I know you heard me.”

With a sigh, he started unlacing his boots. Courtney prepared her suturing kit while Shayne took his sweet time kicking his shoes off. He reluctantly stood up. Courtney stood close by when he wobbled in place. Once his balance was regained, he unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned his pants. She didn’t think Shayne would have any blood to spare, but his face was blushing a light pink. It forced Courtney to bite her smile down.

At least the embarrassment was helping him fight back the tears. They’d stopped completely now.

Shayne’s ripped and bloody jeans hit the floor, and he nudged them over to the side. In nothing but his boxers, he sat back down.

Courtney tried not to check his ass out on the way down.

She failed.

Courtney cleared her throat and began her examination.

If the bullets had struck Shayne an inch more to the right or left, his tibias could have been shattered. Instead, the wounds were surface-level, and had stopped bleeding. A little cleaning and bandaging, and they’d be good as new.

Satisfied with her assessment, Courtney stepped back to look him over one final time. Shayne was avoiding her gaze, likely still self-conscious of his state of undress.

But that wasn’t what Courtney was seeing now.

Now, the only thing Courtney could see was all the punishment he’d endured for her.

His skin, mottled black and blue, from how he’d dived in front of those bullets without a moment’s hesitation. His sticky hair matted with blood and the angry graze on his temple – how he’d stayed in the open to return fire while she ran for cover. His back, just as battered as the front, from what was clearly a hail of bullets wrongfully sent his way. Because of course, Shayne would run from those Paladin agents before being forced to fight them. He never hurt anyone he didn’t need to.

And of course, the gruesome remains of the stainless-steel freezer door. More of his foolhardy selflessness and utter disregard for his own wellbeing. That jagged scrap of steel would’ve probably caught her in the face if he hadn’t dived over her for the second time that day.

His very soul looked crushed and deflated, like there wasn’t a single part of him that wasn’t hurt today.

And it was all because she couldn’t shut her damn mouth. Because she couldn’t swallow her pride and avoid rattling Lewis with her editorial and subsequent statement on Smoshcast Live.

The only reason Shayne was sitting here looking like this was because of her. Because he promised to keep her safe.

And Shayne always kept his promises.

Courtney bit her lip. It was all she could do to hold back the tide of emotions she’d been suppressing. They’d surged when she saw him weeping on the floor, and they were threatening to spill out again.

“Hey…” Shayne’s voice was husky, both from the disuse and the tears.

Courtney did her best to smile. “Hey.”

“C’mere,” His hand meekly motioned her closer. Courtney obliged and positioned herself in front of him. When he motioned yet again, Courtney lowered herself to his level, arms resting on his bare knees.

“I know what you’re thinking.”

Courtney had a deflection in mind about Damien being the psychic and not him – but her throat was too tight, and her tongue was too tied to form the words. She simply hummed in question.

“This isn’t on you.” Shayne’s rough voice was inexplicably soothing.

Courtney shouldn’t have been as surprised as she was. They were so in sync these days. A gander at each other’s faces was all it took to get a read.

“It is.” The guilt was only growing by the moment. Seeing Shayne’s kind, bloody face was making it worse. The fact he’d already forgiven her for getting him shot to shit – Jesus, Shayne had just finished weeping and she was bound to follow next.

“It’s not.” Shayne lowered his head to get closer. She didn’t miss the lick of his lips before he whispered, “I’d do it all again if I had to.”

It would be the same tired argument if Courtney told him she didn’t want him to – that he didn’t need to. He’d just say he couldn’t sit by and do nothing, and off they’d go again.

They were like the laws of the universe itself at this point.

Courtney would never ask Shayne to go out of his way to keep her safe. Shayne would never hesitate for a second to put himself in harm’s way to protect her.

Two conflicting ideas that shouldn’t be able to coexist, yet here they were.

Because each time, Shayne would do what he felt was necessary anyway – whether taking a sharpened toothbrush through the arm and a subsequent beating, or literally diving in front of a gun for her. And it frustrated her to no end that she couldn’t do anything about it. All there was to do was stitch him back up and hope it never happened again.

Courtney resolved then that maybe it was what she had to do. While she still wouldn’t compromise her ideals and her beliefs in the face of the next mad bomber that may lay his sights on her – she’d at least be smarter about it. Hopefully that way, they’d be able to avoid another clusterfuck that ended with Shayne looking like he did now. She’d do her part to make sure he never had to catch bullets for her again.

She lacked the words to express all this to Shayne, so she did the next best thing.

She leaned in to kiss him.

There was a surprised moan against her mouth, but Shayne was quick on the uptake. Their lips pressed together in a gentler, far more tentative manner than back in that elevator. The urgency and hunger had subsided. In its place was all the love and compassion Courtney had in her heart.

There was a certain tranquility to the warm touch of their lips. It wasn’t impulsive like the first. It wasn’t heavy with pretense like the promise of the second. It wasn’t fierce and starving like the third.

It felt right.

Courtney pulled away soon after. She could kiss Shayne all day, but there would be more time for that later. She had to get Shayne patched up first. Distracting herself too much from the task at hand would only mess up her handiwork. So, Courtney rubbed at her damp eyes and smiled at Shayne. He looked a little dazed by the kiss, but decidedly happier.

As she prepared the suturing kit, she felt the need to ask, “This means you’re staying, right?” If he’d promised to do it all again if he had to, then that was the only conclusion she could draw. “You were listening to the news? I saw your bags all packed in the bedroom, but… I don’t see you trying to leave.”

“If I say yes, are you finally gonna stop smooching me and take that scrap of metal out of my arm?” The sass shouldn’t have come so easily from someone as bloodied as Shayne. Whatever had transpired earlier to make him break down had really shaken him. This was a good sign. It meant he was feeling more like himself.

Courtney bit down on her lip to fight back her smile. She fixed him with a displeased glare until he conceded.

“I’m staying.”

Courtney took a moment to gaze at Shayne’s earnest features. “Good.”

She had no tray to catch all of Shayne’s spilling blood. The sink would be too awkward to stitch him up over. All she could do was have him lean forward and let the floor take the splatter. “Put your other hand here,” She instructed, and Shayne complied. Once he was prepared to apply pressure, she looked back up at him.

“This is gonna hurt like a bitch,” Courtney warned him with a sympathetic frown. She cleaned off the surrounding dirt and blood all around the wound. It would look just as bad once the bleeding had started, but she needed a proper baseline.

“Honestly, it might not.” Shayne hissed through his teeth and flexed his fingers – thankfully, they were completely mobile. “The arm’s a bit numb.”

“Well, let’s call that a blessing in disguise then.” Courtney placed her hand over the shrapnel and studied the wound. A licensed professional with a better setup would likely do this differently. They’d make an incision or two to facilitate a better extraction. Courtney couldn’t risk playing around with a scalpel. Worst case scenario here was a rougher wound to patch up, considering the metal wasn’t too deep in.

“Deep breath.”

Once Shayne braced himself, Courtney tugged the gruesome scrap of metal free. Shayne let out a sharp grunt. He panted hard as blood flowed freely from the messy wound. Courtney chucked the shrapnel into the sink then dabbed at the blood. Shayne obediently kept pressure on either side of the nasty cut. Her fingers gently maneuvered over the laceration as she assessed the damage. It wasn’t the cleanest removal, but it could have gone far worse too. The wound was clear of debris and she was free to begin suturing. Courtney retrieved the prepared kit and got to work.

Shayne’s jaw was clenched hard and he was breathing heavily through his nose. All Courtney had gotten today (aside from new trauma) were superficial cuts and a few bruises. She couldn’t begin to imagine the pain Shayne was in.

The suturing to be done on his arm was more challenging than the straightforward cuts on his abdomen and head. But it was manageable. She could talk and stitch. Shayne needed the distraction.

“Damien’s okay.”

Shayne’s breath hitched before returning to its deep, unsteady panting.

“I called Alice on the way here. She’s happy you got him out in one piece.” Courtney glanced up from her work to see him scoff. “She means it, dude. You’re not to blame for any of this mess.”

“I failed Lewis,” Shayne stated it like fact. “There’s no other way to spin that story. I fucked up and he hurt people because of it. He hurt _you_ ,” His pained eyes looked down at her, “Back in that kitchen – one wrong move and he would’ve-”

Courtney interrupted, “But he didn’t, Shayne. I’m okay.” She was _not_ prepared to discuss how close she’d been to talking Lewis down before Shayne arrived. The young man’s twisted, tear-streaked face were going to haunt her nightmares for a while. But she couldn’t hold any more anger towards him. Not when she’d seen up close how broken and lost he was. “He scared the shit out of me, but I’m okay.”

Shayne winced his teeth as the needle sunk back into his bleeding flesh. It stopped the reply that was hot on his tongue.

“I understand you feel responsible for Lewis losing control and bombing those people, hurting Damien, and everything – but you can’t hold that weight over yourself,” Courtney frowned as she worked. She had to wipe the laceration clean every so often. Shayne was still keeping the pressure, but the flow of blood was no joke. “It’s just gonna eat you up, Shayne. You can’t dwell on the could, would, should.”

“It’s normal to feel all this, you know? All of the regret and self-blame…” Courtney shrugged as she completed another stitch, “Let it out. Tell me how you feel. Don’t bottle it up. Then when you’re done, just remember – you did everything you could, and that’s all anyone could’ve ever asked of you.”

And Shayne did. His brow furrowed into a deep frown as he spoke of all the regret and responsibility that was suffocating him. She listened to him as she continued suturing. Occasionally, she nodded and hummed along in understanding. Other times, when he was too harsh with himself, she interjected. He needed the gentle reminder that the world didn’t rest on his shoulders.

By the time she finished suturing his arm, Shayne appeared breathless after everything he’d said. Courtney cleaned the sealed wound and gave him a small smile.

“Feel better?”

Shayne sighed, “Yeah.”

Courtney pressed the dressing to the wound and secured it in place. “I’m glad you got that out of your system.”

Since the next wound on her priority list was his temple, she straightened up to begin her inspection. Courtney had to run her gloved hands through his matted hair to get a better look at it. Shayne realized her dilemma and diligently held his hair in place for her. As unsightly as the swollen and angry graze was, it wouldn’t be too much trouble.

Shayne spoke up again as she cleaned the blood off his temple, “Did Alice say how Damien’s doing?”

“He’s in the hospital,” Courtney answered. Her skillful hands ensured that there was no dirt and debris in the wound before she proceeded. “They want to be sure he didn’t break or fracture anything. Aside from that, he’s fine. They’ll let him go home once that’s out of the way.”

Shayne’s relieved hum mixed with a grunt when Courtney began her suturing. She felt the need to add, “The cops at the scene believed he handled it by himself.”

After a pause in consideration, Shayne started, “Bill-”

Shayne took a deep breath. Courtney frowned as the speculation began to pop off in her head. What could the infamous Billy Russo possibly have to do with all this? Had some memory of his fallen friend dragged something to light? Was he reflecting on something Billy had told him? Was that the reason he was a weeping mess when she found him? It was soon apparent that Shayne was still dodging the topic.

“I was… listening to the news. The eyewitness descriptions are spot on, and they’re pushing this copycat narrative. But nobody identified me? Not even the detective?” Shayne’s skeptical eyes flicked up towards her. He kept his head still so she could work. “It was pretty clear that Detective Raub made me out back there by the elevator.”

“Remember the attack on the 15th precinct?”

“Not exactly something easy to forget,” Shayne muttered.

“Those officers with Matt in full gear – those were survivors of the attack. Fisher, Martin, Pearson, Bunch…” Courtney allowed Shayne to put the pieces together.

Shayne’s head twitched, like he’d just resisted the impulse to look at her in disbelief. He kept his face forward as she tied off the final suture. “You’re kidding, right? No way.”

“Yes way,” Courtney laughed softly, “As long as you behave, they’re not going to say a word. They know you weren’t working with Lewis, so all they’re reporting is your physical appearance. They’re never going to forget what you did for them that day.”

The familiar, disjointed tapping of Shayne’s trigger finger started back up.

Courtney preempted his anxiety. “You have nothing to worry about, Shayne. Matt gave me his word. Nobody is going to rat you out.” When Shayne was still silent, she chimed in again, “Though… you might wanna get a haircut. Trim the beard too.”

Shayne huffed out a short laugh. He held onto his trigger finger with his other hand to still it. “Won’t that just make people see Shayne Topp’s face? His face is all over the news again because of the whole copycat thing.”

“Well, _Brad_ ,” Courtney dressed the wound along his temple. It was easy thanks to the strip of hair that had been shredded off by the bullet. “Trim it down just a lil bit. Somewhere in between, you know? I think that’ll work.”

“You ever given someone a haircut before?” Shayne quirked a brow at her. Courtney squinted and shook her head in the negative. It prompted Shayne to add, “We don’t know how up to date on the news the local barbers and hair stylists are. They might take one look at my scarred head, long hair, beard, and then call the cops.”

Courtney conceded with a roll of her eyes. “Fine. I’ll give you a haircut.” She got into position crouched down in front of him. The reopened cut on his abdomen was the last major wound to deal with. As she crouched between his legs and casually set her hands on either of his knees, Courtney became acutely aware of how they were situated.

It was different the last time they’d done this. Shayne had been wearing his jeans since he hadn’t taken any wounds to the legs. Now Shayne was stripped down to his boxers. It was making her throat unreasonably dry.

Courtney gulped and focused on the ruined sutures. Nothing kills the libido faster than blood and ripped stitches.

“Don’t worry,” Shayne graciously broke the brief spike in tension, “I won’t blame you when you ruin my hair and accidentally give me a bowl cut or something.”

She laughed as she cleaned the reopened laceration. “I’m totally giving you a bowl cut.”

“And what did I do to deserve that, ma’am?”

Courtney looked up at him from where she kneeled. The blood splatters and bruises failed to detract from his lopsided grin, chiseled physique, and warm voice. She could get used to seeing that mischievous glint in his eye from this angle.

Courtney cleared her throat and turned back to cleaning the wound. “For getting shot so many times.”

“Hm,” Shayne hummed and pursed his lips in a show of serious consideration, “I’ll try not to get shot so much next time.”

“There better not be a next time,” Courtney paused briefly to give him a stern glare.

It was a relief to find there was little dead tissue to contend with. Only a few of the sutures had come undone amidst all the physical activity Shayne had put himself through.

“Yeah. Let’s hope there isn’t one,” Shayne agreed. He flashed a small, reassuring smile before bracing himself for Courtney’s needlework. It didn’t take long for Courtney to seal the wound once more before dressing it. Now that all the major wounds were dealt with, Courtney turned her attention to his bruised torso.

With the order to sit and not poke at his dressings, Shayne obediently waited for Courtney as she removed her gloves. Max scooted over to the side to allow Courtney to leave. Instead of trailing after her, he continued watching Shayne, ears tucked behind his head. The smell of blood in the air must have been making the pup uncomfortable. Courtney returned soon after with two cold compresses, a glass of Orange Juice, and some Vitamin C tablets.

Shayne had apparently taken the time to wipe up the blood he’d spilled on the floor. As Courtney stepped in, he was chucking the clumps of red toilet paper into the trash can.

He hissed as the frigid plastic made contact with his sensitive skin. Courtney ran her hands along Shayne’s chest. Her fingers gently pressed at his ribs, “Feel anything soft or tender?”

He took even breaths as he appeared to focus on Courtney’s prodding fingers. After a moment, he replied, “No, I don’t think so.”

Courtney was cautiously optimistic. Shayne’s chest and back were more blue and purple than fleshy pink. They were swollen, but not concentrated particularly around one point or another. The ballistic plates in his vest had evenly distributed the force of the bullets. None of his ribs appeared broken or bruised.

“How are you feeling? Dizzy? Lightheaded?” Courtney allowed Shayne to lean back against the toilet tank, pinning one compress in place. He held the second to his chest with one hand, while the other brought the glass up to down the tablets and OJ.

The glass was set down, and Shayne wiped his lips before answering, “A little lightheaded, but not too bad – I mean, everything hurts like hell, but…” Shayne shrugged. “I think keeping the shrapnel in for so long saved a lot of blood.”

True enough, Shayne was nowhere near as loopy and faint as he was that night when he appeared on Courtney’s fire escape. He didn’t lose as much blood this time. Still, that left the worrying issue of keeping a piece of jagged metal in your arm for over an hour.

“And you’re up to date on your tetanus shots, right?”

Shayne let out a short, sharp laugh. “Y’know, in the Marines – they’re notorious for losing your health cards and all that information. So, we usually get double dosed between deployments.”

“Wow,” Courtney’s sarcastic smile had Shayne grinning. “Did any of you get superpowers from being so hopped up on booster shots?”

“If you consider immunity to tetanus a superpower, then yes.”

Courtney snorted and decided that was the end of that. She pulled on a fresh pair of gloves and got to work cleaning the rest of his smaller wounds, including those on his legs.

The air between them was surprisingly light and free of tension. After they’d nearly sucked each other’s faces off in that grimy elevator, Courtney expected much more friction and uncertainty. After all of Shayne’s talk of not being ready, the heated kisses were an unexpected but not unwelcome surprise. Courtney didn’t want to jump the gun and assume it meant he was ready to go all in with her. She knew Shayne probably was just relieved to have her safe, and let his emotions get the better of him. They had been graced with another chance at living peacefully together. That was already more good luck than Courtney usually got in an entire year. She didn’t want to press the issue further, even if it nagged at her mind.

The silence was only broken by Shayne’s occasional sipping, as she cleaned and dressed his smaller wounds. It gave Courtney even more time to stew in her head. He wasn’t acting particularly strange, aside from the tears when she first arrived. There was no adverse reaction from him when she decided to kiss him just then, either. They were already back to their easy conversation and banter while she stitched him together. The fact that things were almost mundanely normal between them gave her a sliver of hope. Maybe he really had lowered the last of his walls to let her in.

Courtney was almost tempted to test that theory by kissing him again.

Shayne spoke up before she could put her bright idea to use. “Hey, Court?”

Her hands finished pressing down another adhesive bandage. Courtney ignored her compromising position between his legs yet again. “Yeah?”

“Earlier, when you found me in the bedroom…” Shayne’s flighty eyes spoke of the emotional toll it took to bring this up.

Courtney gave him an encouraging smile and nodded.

“I was getting ready to leave, right? Then I tripped on that loose board by my bed-”

“Shit, I thought that tripwire only worked on intruders,” Courtney bit back her teasing grin.

She prided herself in her success in breaking through Shayne’s nervous frown. With an amused huff, and less restraint, he continued, “Yeah, I hit my head on the way down.”

That explained the fresh bruise on his forehead.

“You don’t have a concussion, do you?” Courtney’s expression grew serious for a moment, “Do you have a headache? Ringing ears? Nausea?”

“No, no – I’m fine. Mostly,” Shayne licked his lips. “I blacked out for a bit.”

Courtney nodded her head to indicate she was listening as she cleaned the last wound on his leg – another gunshot wound that could’ve gone much worse.

“When I was out of it, I…” Shayne sighed and fidgeted with the cold compress he had against his chest, “Court, I’m not sure if I ever told you this.”

“Told me what?”

“Whenever it’s like, bad – you know, really bad – like being shot to shit overseas, or when the Irish got me the first time, or that time in Rikers – when I’m unconscious, I have these,” Shayne scoffed at himself, “Dreams, I guess you could call them.”

“Mhm?” Courtney hummed as she prepared a fresh bandage.

“I see Nicole. She’s wearing her wedding gown and I’m in my dress blues. We’re under this spotlight and we’re dancing and – Jesus,” Shayne shook his head, “She’s gorgeous, you know? Sometimes we talk a little. Other times there’s no words.”

“Must be your mind’s way of giving you a little break,” Courtney offered.

“I thought so too,” Shayne muttered almost to himself before speaking up, “Then I saw her again after I put the last Cartel shitbag in the ground. But I wasn’t bleeding out or anything. It was just a normal dream, except…”

Courtney’s fingertips gently pressed the final bandage in place. She rested her arms on his legs. Slow, soothing strokes were drawn against his skin as she looked up at him. Shayne was once more looking anywhere but her. When the erratic tapping of his trigger finger against his thigh didn’t stop, Courtney took hold of his hand. It was still sticky with blood, but Courtney didn’t mind. She’d held him through worse already. Shayne entwined his fingers with hers but continued to steadfastly avoid her gaze.

“It was so real, Court.” Shayne licked his lips. There was a dreamy, faraway look in his eyes. He was reliving the moment right then and there. He spoke softly, and it reminded Courtney of his voice in the early mornings. “Her face, her voice, the way she was looking at me, y’know? She was right there. The feeling of her skin, the couple of knots in her hair from waking up,” He laughed, breathy and quietly, “Kinda like yours.”

Courtney could do nothing to suppress the flutter in her chest at the comparison. She simply watched the bob in Shayne’s throat as he continued, “She was there, Court. She was with me.”

“Did she say anything?” Courtney gave his hand a light squeeze.

“She convinced me to go back to the city.” Shayne glanced once at her, before his eyes darted away. “She wanted me to go find home and learn to live again.”

A wave of goosebumps prickled Courtney’s skin. She gently rubbed Shayne’s hand and asked, “Is that why you came back?”

Shayne’s light blue eyes were swirling with emotion when they looked at her. “Yeah.”

Courtney had a hodgepodge of mixed views when it came to superstition. The rational part of her was saying this was Shayne’s subconscious leading him to a peaceful life. The other part was wondering if Shayne’s late wife had actually paid him a visit in his dreams all those times. In either case, Courtney couldn’t argue with the results. Shayne was home with her thanks to that dream.

“I haven’t seen her like that in a while.” Shayne’s face was set in a gentle frown. “Things have been quiet for the most part, so I guess she never had reason to show up, you know?”

“You saw her when you blacked out earlier?” Courtney guessed.

“I saw Billy.” Shayne had to swallow the lump in his throat once more. “I’ve never seen Billy like that before. And again, it was just,” He bit his lip for a pause, “He was right there, Court,” Shayne pointed out the bathroom door, “His hair was styled, he was wearing a fancy suit, and that goddamn cologne – fuck – I can still smell it.”

Shayne was gripping her hand firmly as if to ground himself in reality. Courtney placed her other hand over his and squeezed.

“I held him, Court. That was Billy. He walked like him, laughed like him, gave me shit like him, got me to stop freaking out like him.” Shayne clenched his jaw for a moment. With a sigh, his frown deepened. “Everything he did, it was just – it was so fucking real. And at the time, I – it’s not like those dreams with Nicki. With her, I know I’m unconscious or asleep. With Billy – Jesus – I thought I was hallucinating. We were walking around my apartment and everything.”

Courtney watched him with a mixture of fascination and concern. Shayne must have hit his head pretty hard to have gone through such vivid moments in his unconsciousness. It was almost like some sort of lucid dream. She never would have guessed all of this had gone on in Shayne’s mind.

“You always made Billy out to be an interesting guy,” Courtney mused. “Did he say something… important?”

Shayne’s swollen and bruised chest rose and fell with a deep breath. “He got me to stop my panicking and check the TV. That’s how I realized they’re not looking for me – at least, not by name. I’m sure there’s lots of blonde hipsters with beards and long hair in New York.”

Courtney pursed her lips in consideration. “Well, that was helpful of him.”

“The helpful little shit didn’t even give me the chance to say goodbye.” Shayne’s scoff was heavy with embitterment. He was staring holes into the bathroom wall to her side.

Connecting the pieces, Courtney craned her head slightly to meet his eyes. She wore a sympathetic smile as she asked, “Is that why you weren’t feelin’ too hot when I arrived?”

“Yeah, it was.” Shayne was looking right into her eyes now. “But that wasn’t all he did. He got me to stay.”

Courtney blinked. “Stay? You were still planning on leaving, weren’t you?” She failed to bite down the flare of irritation at his misguided sense of keeping her safe. “Even after you found out the cops weren’t onto you – you wanted to leave?”

Shayne ducked his head with a remorseful frown. “I’m sorry, Court. Billy talked me out of it, okay? I’m here. I’m staying. I’m not leaving you.” His brows were still pitched together when he smiled in a peace offering. “I’m with you.”

Like plucking a white wire, the rising emotion within her was defused. Courtney sighed to expel the last of her bitter feelings. He’d nearly left the city, but he didn’t. That was what mattered. Courtney returned the smile. “I’m glad you listened to Billy.”

“Bill reminded me of a couple things. It’s part of like, how he got me to stay.”

“Yeah? How’d he manage that?”

Shayne’s eyes no longer avoided hers. “He reminded me I’ve gotta focus on what’s important. _Who’s_ important and right in front of me and,” He huffed an airy laugh, “And has been in front of me the entire time.”

Courtney’s heart began to thump against her chest with a rising frequency. Those damn ocean eyes were drawing her in and trapping her in place.

“He reminded me of the promise I made to Nicki to try and find home – to live again.” Shayne bit his lip for a beat as his thumb brushed against her knuckles, “He reminded me of what Bell told me about finding an _after_.”

The heat was prickling across her skin and throughout her body, emanating from her very core. Her dry throat was making her fear that her voice would fail her. In spite of that, she asked anyway, “And what did Bell say?”

Shayne reached over to the sink to put down the cold compresses. They slid downward and nudged into the discarded shrapnel, producing a light _clink_.

Purposefully and deliberately, Shayne set his second hand over hers. “He told me that when I find my _after_ , I need to hold onto it with two hands and don’t let go.” Shayne squeezed her with both of his hands.

With a deep breath, Shayne let out a nervous laugh. His eyes sparkled with emotion and vulnerability. “Life’s too short to keep running. So, here I am, trying to make this mean something.”

The fire raging within Courtney’s chest was ready to burst free along with her heart. There were a million things she could tell Shayne in that moment. To express her glee that he was letting her in. The excitement she had for their future together. The relief to know that he was here to stay for good. The absolute thrill of having him all to herself for real.

But Shayne had an effect on her. Courtney Miller, with all her wordsmithing and her successful career in journalism – was at a loss for words. There was simply no way to convey the blooming cacophony of emotions running through her. All she could do was smile and let the feelings out.

Gently, she pried her hands free from Shayne’s hold. She set them on his bruised chest, trailing them up to his neck as she gazed into his eyes. Courtney guided his head down towards her own.

This time, they both leaned into the kiss.

It was liberating. Like a load – every bit of weight that had ever bore down on Courtney – it had all been lifted by Shayne’s lips brushing against her own. She was light. If she hadn’t been wrapping her arms around Shayne’s neck, she may very well have started to float up to the ceiling. A pleased sigh slipped out of her mouth in between kisses. She felt Shayne’s smile against her lips. The rumbling chuckle she loved so damn much erupted from his chest. His teasing nibble on her bottom lip turned her sigh into a breathy gasp.

Courtney’s hands settled over his bearded cheeks, which she soon found were still a little sticky. It gave her pause and reminded her of how bloody the poor man still was.

A displeased grunt spilled out of Shayne’s lips when Courtney broke the kiss. The mounting desire burning in Shayne’s eyes was contagious. It took all of her willpower not to dive right back into things.

They weren’t in that filthy elevator anymore after fighting for their lives. They’d earned the chance to make out without accidentally licking each other’s blood.

“How ‘bout we get you cleaned up, huh?” Courtney suggested. Her thumb ghosted over one of the small cuts on his face. These didn’t need bandaging. A little water and some TLC, and he’d be good as new.

“I think you could use a little cleaning too,” Shayne pursed his lips and motioned towards her face. “You, uh – you got a little somethin’ there.”

Courtney frowned and began to straighten up to check the mirror. Shayne took that time to leave a sticky reddish handprint on her face. Her mouth hung open in shock and mild disgust.

“Shayne! What the fuck?!”

Before Courtney could smack Shayne on the good arm, he stood up to be on her level. There was that mischievous look on his face that sent butterflies fluttering madly around her stomach. He moved closer – close enough for her to feel his breath on her face. Close enough to smell that unexplainably comforting mixing pot of scents – blood, smoke, gunpowder, and a hint of citrus.

“Think I might have an idea how we can both get cleaned up.” Shayne’s husky, suggestive voice was making her knees weak.

Courtney didn’t miss Shayne’s glance towards the shower.

She thought her body was burning up before, but now – fuck – this was too much. She could pounce on him right at this very moment.

As quickly as this suave, smooth version of Shayne had cropped up, he reeled it in with a gentlemanly disclaimer. “That’s if – y’know – you want to…” He licked his lips, “Hop in there with me. These bandages are waterproof, so…”

Courtney bit her lip.

It was impossible to deny an invitation like that. She was nowhere near as bloody as Shayne, but she still felt filthy as well. The two explosions left a rough layer of grime, sweat, and dust all over her body. This was the perfect solution to remedy that. When she’d imagined getting squeaky clean with Shayne this morning, she hadn’t expected it to actually happen.

“I don’t wanna force you into anything,” Shayne’s now pink face was slightly ducked as he spoke, “S-so you can feel free to say no, okay?” The bravado had turned to coyness in almost the blink of an eye. Courtney didn’t think it was possible, but she loved him even more for it.

When her silence unintentionally drew on as she leveled her heavy stare at him, Shayne rambled on, “Shit, Court – I didn’t mean to come onto you this hard, I – you know – we just – it feels-”

“Shayne,” Courtney hushed. “Get in there and get the water running. I’ll be with you in a sec.”

Shayne did his best to play it cool, which was clearly not his strong suit. “Nice. Okay. I’ll just, uh – I’ll,” He jerked his thumb in the shower’s direction, “I’ll get in there.”

It was incomprehensible how she enjoyed shy, stumbling Shayne as much as she did gruff, confident Shayne. Courtney watched with admiration in her eyes as Shayne slid the frosted glass door open. He stepped inside before shutting it to grant himself some _privacy_.

The notion nearly made her laugh out loud. Of course, Shayne of all people would be too shy to undress in front of her, even if they were about to hop into the same shower.

Shayne Topp – father, husband, decorated war hero, the fucking Punisher, killer of criminals, scourge of Hell’s Kitchen – was shy in front of his girl.

God, she loved him.

As Courtney unbuttoned her ripped and soiled blouse, she idly wondered how he survived the communal showers in prison. In the Marines as well, Courtney would imagine that privacy wasn’t the biggest concern when setting up showers for the men. It probably boiled down to him being embarrassed around her in particular. The thought put an endearing smile on her face.

While Courtney thought of privacy as she unzipped her pencil skirt, it reminded her of the third wheel sitting attentively by the door. Courtney turned to Max, who tilted his head curiously at her. The sound of running water soon filled the bathroom. A light thud behind her caused Courtney to glance back. A pair of discarded boxers had been tossed over the frosted glass barrier. She could make out Shayne’s silhouette; it was enough to make her throat dry. She had her own personal Greek God waiting for her in the shower.

With more urgency now, Courtney let her skirt crumple to the floor. She stepped free of the clothing and kicked off her flats and pulled off her socks. Courtney gave Max a quick pat on the head, “Go get your ball, baby,” Courtney gestured off towards the living room, “We’ll see you in a bit.”

Max snorted but appeared to get the message. There was an almost knowing look in the dog’s eyes before he strutted off.

Courtney shut the bathroom door with an amused smile. The rest of her underwear came off soon after, and she padded over to the frosted sliding door. As she stepped onto the bathroom mat, her hand hovered over the handle.

Surely this couldn’t be that simple. This wasn’t the type of good fortune that Courtney Miller attracted. She didn’t get to share steamy showers with the love of her life.

She drew in stalkers from the start of her budding career. She packed Macrogurt in her purse and good intentions in her heart, and nearly took a shiv in the eyeball for it. She found the missing link to the story, only to be assailed by a hail of machinegun fire. She reunited with her closest confidant, only for him to drag his old commanding officer into a shed and shut the door in her face. When she thought things were on the up, up, up – she wound up in the crosshairs of an unhinged suicide bomber.

Courtney simply didn’t get breaks like this.

If she opened this door now, there was no telling what fucked up curveball life would be throwing her way next.

Maybe one of Shayne’s bandages wasn’t properly adhered, and he’d be leaking blood all over the floor. The nice, pristine floor would grow red as the watery crimson swirled around the drain.

Or maybe she’d just trip on the goddamn step and brain herself on the wall.

Because if Shayne was a father, husband, decorated war hero, the fucking Punisher, killer of criminals, scourge of Hell’s Kitchen – who had everything taken away from him, and whose life was a rollercoaster of one tragedy after another – well, they really were a match made in hell, weren’t they?

Or a match made in psycho-heaven, as Olivia and Ian had said on two separate occasions.

Because she was Courtney Miller – intrepid reporter, eagle-eyed investigative journalist, Atomic Blonde, stalker magnet, attractor of mad bombers – and she didn’t have good luck.

Put them together and maybe they’d both just accidentally crack their skulls open on the harsh shower tiles.

She could see the articles already.

_The Punisher – Found dead in a shower alongside Smosh journalist, Courtney Miller!_

_Courtney Miller: A Glutton for Punishment? Click here to learn more about The Punisher’s secret mistress!_

_Shower Time Seduction Gone Wrong? Read here how The Punisher’s sordid affair came to a tragic end!_

_A Reporter and a Mass Murderer Walk into a Shower… Click here to find out what happens next!_

Courtney thumped her head against the frosted glass.

She was being stupid.

All she had to do was open the goddamn door, step in, and pounce on Shayne –

Okay, maybe not _pounce_ on him, or else those articles would become a reality.

One thing at a time, then.

Courtney took a breath and slid the door open. Her face was greeted by a rush of steam.

The first thought to cross her mind was that the heat couldn’t possibly be good for those stitches and bandages.

The second thought was that Shayne had probably taken more bullets today than he had in a year. If the man wanted hot water, then god damnit, let him have his hot water.

Courtney stepped in to find Shayne facing the shower. He was all sharp angles and hard muscle and was quite certainly the most gorgeous thing she’d ever laid eyes on. The water was cascading down his head as he rubbed at his face. His thick mane of hair clumped together as the blood stubbornly refused to wash out. The water running into the drain was murky and tinged with red. It would only look worse once she stepped under the spray with him.

The door slid shut, hiding them from the cold, unforgiving world beyond. The world that searched for Bradley Russo by appearance alone. They’d never find him. Not if Courtney had anything to say about it.

Giving him a haircut and hiding him was a problem for later. For now, they were alone where nobody could disturb them. No bloodthirsty inmates. No Cartel hitmen. No Blacksmith’s men. No Lewis.

Just them.

Shayne scrubbed his face and his beard, either oblivious or unaffected by her arrival. His rough hands passed over his wounded skin, doing his darndest to scrub off the dirt and the blood. His hand then paused to swing the chain around his neck over one shoulder. Shayne’s wedding ring jingled against the chain before stopping below the nape of his neck.

The shining, pristine gold – completely unaffected by the blood and muck of today’s harrowing experience – was once more a stark contrast to the dark purple bruises on his back.

It was poetic, in a way.

The timeless symbol of the love he had for Nicole, of the commitment to his family – an heirloom of his life that was unjustly taken from him. The constant reminder of everything he’d lost and everything he’d fought for.

It laid against the motley of ruptured vessels on his back from all the bullets he’d taken to protect his present. His future. His _after_.

Courtney had to take a moment to realize the dampness on her cheeks were tears and not droplets bouncing off of Shayne’s broad form.

Because there he was, standing naked and vulnerable in front of her. And he wasn’t simply sharp angles and hard muscle. He was bare before her, and not just physically. This was the man who had everything he loved violently ripped away from him. The man who struck back against the injustice with no other course of action but to rip and tear until everyone responsible had gotten what they deserved.

This was a man who had an unfathomable darkness within him – the same man who hung Cartel enforcers on meat hooks, blew up biker clubhouses, and shredded the Irish with automatic gunfire. Those hands he used to rub his face had been used to murder scores of vile men.

But those same hands held his wife when they danced. They cradled his little girl when he read her bedtime stories. They gripped onto his brothers-in-arms in the darkest of days. They held Courtney by the shoulders while he cycled between _ma’am, Courtney,_ and finally _Court_ to break her out of her shellshocked stupor after the bloody fight in Rikers.

And despite it all – after the world had shown its ugliest and darkest crevices to him, he had the strength to move forward and try to build a new life. After all the love had been brutally taken from him, he still had some tiny part of himself to give.

And he was entrusting it to her.

Shayne wore that love plain as day on the bruises that marred his body. The lengths he was willing to go to for her – the tiny piece of love he had left, stretched as long and wide as he could for her – they were stitched into his skin. Each angry welt, each laceration, and each spattering of black and blue.

That was his love for her.

Courtney’s head tilted forward to rest against the nape of his neck. Her nose hovered barely an inch away from Shayne’s wedding ring. The warm water splashed off of Shayne’s head and into her hair. He stiffened only for a moment, the broad muscles of his shoulders tensing before relaxing. He took a small step forward to allow the shower to properly reach them both. Courtney was grateful for the stream of water for hiding her tears.

All she could see was that ring. In the light of the bathroom, she was able to make out the inscription on the inside. Plain, simple, and elegant. Shayne and Nicole’s names.

She’d seen the ring so many times over the almost one year she’d known Shayne. When Matt handed it over to her. When it was stashed away in her bedside drawer. When it was finally returned to Shayne when he came home. The many times she’d accidentally walked in on Shayne in varying states of undress.

All those instances, that was all it was – a ring. The last little thing he had of his family that he could keep close.

Now, under the warm glow of the bathroom light, steam filling the small space, water trickling against the shining gold – it was different. The ring’s gleam almost had an ethereal charm to it. Its mesmerizing sparkle was all she could see.

It was sacred. Courtney felt reverential to be in its presence.

There was a deep, powerful sense of responsibility that filled Courtney, right down to her bones. She owed it to Nicole and Lizzy to do everything in her power to give Shayne the life he deserved. The life he earned through blood, sweat, tears, heart wrenching loss, and endless, echoing loneliness. It was a daunting prospect, but not one she would ever turn down.

And in that moment, looking at the ring, she could feel Nicole’s plead to stay by his side. She could hear Lizzy’s request to keep daddy happy.

The frustrated tears continued to sting Courtney’s eyes as Shayne ran his hands through his hair, none the wiser.

Because it was all so goddamn unfair. She shouldn’t be the one here standing naked in the shower with Shayne. They shouldn’t be in this nice little apartment of his, paid for in Schoonover’s drug money.

Courtney should be alone, back in her crummy flat, nursing a cool beer and typing out her latest shitty article.

Shayne should be in his warm home in the suburbs. Nicole’s melodic voice should be filling the air with song, while Lizzy made magic happen on that piano. Damien and Billy should be there in the living room, laughing like idiots and horsing around like children. Schoonover should be seated on that armchair, swirling his glass of scotch around like the pseudo-grandfather he was supposed to be.

But now Shayne was never going to have that. Not again.

And it was the biggest goddamn injustice on this earth.

The words spilled out of her mouth with a strangled sob. They weren’t filtered any longer. They were the raw thoughts running through her mind.

“You know,” Courtney sniffed. Her hands finally snaked around Shayne’s midsection to hold him from behind. She felt Shayne tense once more, but this time because of her voice. “If I could…”

“…Court?”

Her clumsy lips touched the back of his neck. They brushed against his wedding ring’s chain. Slowly, inch by inch, Courtney pressed her entire body against Shayne’s. Her breasts were flushed against his broad shoulder blades, her toned stomach slid against the curve of his lower back, and her hips aligned perfectly with his. With a quivering gulp, she whispered, “I’d trade places with them any day.”

She loved him so goddamn much.

“Even if it meant I never got to meet you,” She choked back another sob. Her heart spilled her confession out, raw, and honest, “I’d do it. Just so you could have them back.”

It was the honest to God truth. A part of Courtney felt that emotions these strong should have been frightening. But they weren’t. And maybe the fact she wasn’t worried was precisely why she should be.

Shayne gently pried her hands off of his abdomen. He turned to face her under the warm spray of the shower for the first time. His face was clean of blood and dirt. Those small cuts would need to be patted dry, but they looked well. His beard was soft and fresh, and she suppressed the impulse to nuzzle it. His long mop of hair had finally stopped matting and clumping together. It was swept back, allowing her full view of his gentle frown.

He was beautiful from head to toe.

Courtney tried not to ogle. She really did.

(Not really)

Shayne had more restraint than her. Those breathtaking eyes looked nowhere but into her own.

Courtney was so starstruck that she’d momentarily forgotten why he was perplexed by her. Because there she was, clinging onto him, eyes puffy and pink and ruining her long-forgotten makeup. The water was streaming down her body, slowly washing away the dirt and dust, and the smell of smoke.

“I mean it,” Courtney felt the need to reinforce her sentiment.

Shayne’s brows were still pitched together in a frown. His lips quirked into a sad smile as he nodded, “I know, babe.”

Courtney’s shaking lower lip hung open for a beat. Those ocean eyes were locking her in place. Disarming her. Knocking her defenses over. Toppling her walls. Those eyes could suck her soul right from her body and it would be the sweetest release imaginable.

And then Shayne’s hands – now fresh and clean – were on her shoulders. They inched their way up her slender neck, brushed along her jawline, and finally cupped her face. Courtney felt stupid standing there tongue-tied and unsure of where to put her own hands after Shayne had removed them. It took far longer than necessary to find a spot on either side of his hips. From there, they roamed against his wet skin, across his ribs, around his back – didn’t matter. She just wanted to feel him.

Those cursed three words were on the tip of her tongue. The L-bomb was going to be dropped if Shayne kept looking at her like that for a moment longer. Courtney wasn’t sure she was prepared for that. She needed to say something. Anything to break the silence before her emotions and hormones could.

“You’re my favorite pizza place.”

They weren’t quite the words Courtney had intended to sputter out.

Shayne barked out a sharp laugh, wiping the frown off of his features. He was looking at her again, with that smile too handsome for his own good. “Yeah, you’re the _Best_ _Yogurt Mom_ I could ever ask for too.”

Through the tears still brimming in her eyes, Courtney found herself laughing along with him.

“You’re just a real top notch romantic, aren’t you, ma’am?” Shayne’s grin was wide in spite of his sarcasm. He brushed the droplets of water from her face as the shower’s warm spray continued to bear down on them. It was a futile task, really. Courtney wasn’t sure what he hoped to accomplish with his Sisyphus-like gesture. The water would continue to stream down her face no matter how much wiping he did.

Then Courtney realized he was wiping at the tears that were mixing in with the water.

She was chewing her bottom lip again. That was something she couldn’t help. Not when Shayne was so damn gorgeous and caring and all hers. His eyes were boring into her own. It wasn’t like when he drank up the sight of her – as if he were trying to commit every inch of her to memory. Now it was like he was searching.

“Hey, Frog Arms,” Her hands came to rest on either of his biceps. Courtney had to gulp to keep the waver out of her voice. Her emotions were still running incredibly hot. “What’s got your frog brain all busy?”

Shayne’s nose scrunched up briefly in displeasure. Then he pursed his lips, which were far too tempting. “Just thinkin’.”

“Can I ask about what?”

“You.” Shayne’s shoulder twitched up in the approximation of a shrug. An attempt at nonchalance.

Even if there was nothing nonchalant about holding onto each other under a hot shower.

Just the same, Courtney felt a shiver run down her spine at the simplicity and honesty of his answer. Swallowing was doing nothing to help her dry throat. “What about me?”

The pause hung in the steamy air between them for some time. Shayne’s enticing lips were parted as he searched for the words. Courtney gave him all the time he needed. It gave her a break to compose herself. Slow the trickle of tears to a stop. She busied herself stroking along his toned arms with her fingertips. Admiring his bearded face which somehow made him look softer than all the sharp angles and hard edges of his body.

“I guess I still can’t wrap my head around how lucky I am,” Shayne licked his lips for a second, “I dunno what I did to deserve you, Courtney. I can’t… I don’t know how I’ll ever repay everything you’ve done for me.”

As easy as breathing, Courtney replied, “It’s nothing, Shayne.”

“No, Court.” Shayne shook his head. “I wouldn’t be here today if you hadn’t stuck out for me all those times. It’s not nothing. It’s _everything_.”

His eyes broke from hers only to glance at the small cuts on her face – the little souvenirs she’d gotten from all the explosions that had gone off. Shayne brought his lips forward to press against the cuts. Courtney’s eyes fluttered shut. Her skin tingled warm at the contact, while Shayne’s thumbs all the while continued stroking her cheeks.

“My pot of gold at the end of the shit-stained rainbow,” Shayne whispered so quietly that she nearly missed it.

“What?” Courtney made a face.

When Shayne pulled back to look at her, he wore a smile sweet enough to make her melt. “This, Court – this is it,” His brows furrowed for a moment, and there was a hint of dreaminess in his voice. “ _After_.”

Courtney felt the waterworks starting back up. Except this time, it wasn’t from sorrow, regret, or sympathy.

It was joy.

Shayne’s hands – both hands – held onto her face tenderly but firmly. There was no anxious finger tapping. No flighty eyes. No twitching. No restlessness.

With a deep breath, Shayne rested his forehead against her own.

“I love you, Courtney.”

Courtney felt the wind leave her. She let out a breathy laugh as her skin prickled and sang with glee. The heat in her core blossomed into a warmth that coursed through her veins and all across her body.

It was the easiest thing in the world to answer, “I love you too, Shayne.”

Their lips met under the hot spray of the shower. It felt right. Natural. Like everything had led precisely to this very moment. As if they’d said those words dozens of times already – which, Courtney realized that in a way, they already had.

Every gift of Macrogurt. Every stolen glance. Every small, supportive smile. Every squeeze of the hand. Every reassurance of _you and me_. Every coffee prepared – even if she’d gotten his preference wrong for the longest time, and he’d never gotten hers wrong once. Every slip up of the word _babe_. Every postcard he sent to her. Every solemn declaration of _I’m with you_.

And everything in between.

They’d shared a love for each other for the longest time. It had simply evolved and blossomed into something new and beautiful over the months. Through their mutual support, dedication, and understanding, they found partners in each other unlike any other. For Courtney, it was a first – a deep and intimate connection she’d never felt before. It was the type of bond most people would be lucky to experience once in their entire lives. For Shayne, he still couldn’t comprehend how he was lucky enough to find such a connection not once, but twice.

In the kisses Shayne pressed to her lips, her cheeks, her jaw, her neck – Courtney felt all the love he had left in his scarred heart. It touched her deeply and inexplicably to be trusted with it. But this time, Courtney didn’t weep. She channeled all that love right back.

Courtney’s hands were tussling up his long hair with little care for the occasional snags. The soft and gentle start they’d gotten off to was escalating. Her lips grew excited and urgent as they kissed and pressed against Shayne’s. When his tongue dashed against her lips, Courtney felt she could pass out then and there. Shayne would probably catch her before she hit the floor anyway.

But she didn’t. Instead, she parted her lips, allowing her tongue to dance against his own – to taste him and take him in.

Gone was the flavor of blood and smoke. The water had washed it all away and granted them a do-over. A small part of her almost missed it. But she could definitely get used to this.

The thick, hot air between them crackled with their increasing urgency. Courtney was growing acutely aware of how Shayne’s hands had never left her face. The heat burning within her body was growing demanding. She had an itch to scratch and she would burn the entire goddamn world down if Shayne didn’t get to scratching it.

Courtney – conscious of the stitches on his temple – tugged on his hair. She guided him over to the cool tile wall. Shayne’s bruised back pressed against it and immediately arched. He let out a sharp hiss against her lips. Within moments, the tension eased from his body and his back aligned with the wall as she sucked on his lower lip. Courtney left Shayne little room for gentlemanliness. It was only fair. The things she wanted to do to him weren’t the least bit ladylike.

Without breaking the kiss, Courtney grabbed Shayne’s hands. She deliberately lowered them down to settle over her ass – to make sure there was no way her intentions or message was unclear.

In a manner that was so quintessentially Shayne, he mumbled against her lips, “This okay?”

The man was too sweet for his own good, and it made her heart swell.

To answer his question, Courtney pressed her body against his, leaving not an inch between them. She savored the feeling of her bare, wet skin against his own. There was a sense of satisfaction Courtney drew from the low grumble Shayne let out. With more fervor and intention, he grabbed fistfuls of her firm rear in his hands. Courtney drove her hips against his own as she took a hungry nibble of his bottom lip. The heat pooling in her stomach sweltered as she felt Shayne’s own growing arousal between her thighs.

Her smug smirk was quickly wiped from her face. Shayne took the lead this time, peeling off the wall and pushing her back against the frosted glass barrier. It was her turn to take in a sharp gasp. The prickling warmth of her skin against the cool glass made her body curve right into Shayne. The low moan against her mouth spurred her on. Her hands were all over his body, firm and demanding where she was allowed – his sturdy shoulders and sides. And gentle where it mattered – his bruised chest and bandaged stitches.

Shayne was growing bold as well. Courtney nearly whined in protest when Shayne’s lips left her own. The sound quickly turned into a delighted hum when he trailed kisses down to her neck. The hums became airy moans when he nibbled and teethed at her skin.

“God, babe,” Courtney muttered into his ear before giving it a nip of her own. The husky chuckle rumbled out of Shayne’s chest. With their damp skin pressed together, she felt the low reverberation running through her body. Courtney was no longer liable for the lewd sounds that tumbled out of her mouth.

One of Shayne’s hands remained firmly on her hip, securing her against the glass. The other was running along her side in broad strokes, leaving a trail of tingles wherever it went. The tip of his thumb was just barely ghosting along the side of her breast, and it was driving her insane. If this was another one of his shitty attempts of being a gentleman, Courtney was going to –

“Fuck…” Courtney bit her lip. Shayne tasted the sensitive skin of her collarbone. His hand massaged the soft mounds of her chest in gentle movements that sent a rush of sparks up from her very core. Her stomach clenched as her hips involuntarily bucked against his own. Courtney shivered as Shayne let out a sharp, hot exhale against her skin. His head swung up in a dazed manner to look at her. His talented fingers continued their work as she squirmed against him.

When Shayne didn’t say anything, she laughed softly. “What?”

“You’re beautiful. You know that?”

Courtney didn’t think it was still possible to blush in these circumstances. But here she was – pinned to the glass wall, grinding, and being fondled, yet blushing because of a simple compliment.

“Shut up.”

Courtney Miller, intrepid reporter, and successful journalist – truly a master of comebacks.

She brought her lips back down onto Shayne’s before he could retort. Courtney could feel him grinning right into the kiss. He only broke apart to press his lips to her skin in a meandering trail going down. Her jaw, her chin, her neck, her breasts – good God, he was such an attentive lover, paying heed to every tingle of her skin, every twitch of her hips, and every gasping moan from her lips.

Shayne only paused when he reached her lower ribs. His fingertips ghosted over a line in her skin, long since forgotten. Courtney had to open her eyes, which she’d been clenching shut in the effort to keep her euphoria in check. His wet brows were gently pitched together in a frown while his thumb continued drawing long, light strokes.

It was the scar she’d gotten from the fight in Rikers. Courtney was surprised he’d been able to see it at all. It was nothing but a thin, white line. Leave it to the Scout Sniper to miss no detail, no matter the size. Water continued to trickle down her body as Shayne pressed warm kisses to the scar, and the small bruises around her torso from the two times she’d hit the ground hard today.

Next thing Courtney knew, Shayne was crouched down, right between her legs. He swept his damp head of hair back to keep it out of his face. There was a moment’s hesitation as he managed to smile _bashfully_ at her from such a compromising place.

“If you really think you still need to ask me if _this is okay_ …” Courtney bit her lip as she looked down at him. Her fingers eased into his wet hair. “I’m gonna crush your head between my legs.”

Shayne broke into a laugh before humming in consideration, “You know, that doesn’t sound like a bad way to go.”

“Dude,” Courtney giggled, “Can you just – _oh!_ ”

They lost track of time under the hot spray of their shower. Their bodies were hot and needy. Their hands grabbed and caressed, full of want and desire. Their soft sighs and breathy moans filled the steamy air. Their lips never strayed far from one another’s. They only split to press more kisses against each other’s bodies. In between the grunts and gasps, there were words. They were whispered into skin. Their voices were tender. Intimate. Reverential. In their throes of passion and love, there was no telling who said what. Some were sweet nothings. Others were hissed curses. Some were joined by light laughter. Others were promises.

_Fuck._

_Babe!_

_Is this okay?_

_Yeah – yes, of course._

_Tell me I’m your favorite pizza place._

_You’re so dumb. Quit it!_

_Oh my God!_

_I love you._

_I’m with you._

_Always?_

_Always._

By the time their ecstasy had passed its peak, they were leaning against the cool tile wall for support. Shayne panted hard as the water cascaded off his back, intermingling with and washing away the sweat they’d worked up. He held onto Courtney with a firm grip as she rested back on the wall, legs shaking and core throbbing. Their heads rested against one another, taking in the same air with shaky breaths like they’d done just hours ago. In between the huffing and gasping for air, they smiled at each other. Bashful. Shy. Almost like lovesick, starstruck teenagers. Courtney almost felt it was unbecoming.

But then she got to look at Shayne – to really look at him. Behind the thick beard and the wet mane of hair, there was that man in the portrait that hung in Shayne’s old house. In his crisp, pressed dress blues, freshly graduated from training.

Shayne looked years younger as he smiled at Courtney from under the stream of the shower. He had that same easygoing look in his eyes like he had the whole world to conquer, and his entire life ahead of him.

No dark bruises under his eyes, which stormed with vengeance and fury. No harsh scowl on split lips. No battered and dislocated knuckles. No trigger finger tapping its staccato rhythm.

But this wasn’t Shayne from the before, either. Stress and loss had added a small wrinkle or laugh line here and there. The tiniest, most miniscule bit of melancholia lurked below the surface, even behind the joy in his eyes. Yet it was minor and manageable. The grief and loneliness were a part of him now, but they didn’t consume him. They didn’t define him. And that was good enough.

The man who Shayne was long ago couldn’t come back completely. But parts of him had returned – the parts that mattered. They made their home in who he was now, reconciling and living with the new demons he contended with. Somehow, they made peace together, and it worked. This was who Shayne was in the _after_.

For Nicole, Lizzy, and even Billy, and Bell, Courtney would ensure Shayne had an _after_ worth living. It was both an honor to have the chance to be with him after everything, and a big responsibility to protect him in whatever way she could.

But as Shayne intertwined his fingers with her own – sweet smile on his face – Courtney knew there was nowhere she’d rather be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you for reading the grand finale! I'll reserve my long and sentimental gratitude for the epilogue, but I'll say it again anyway - thank you! This story wouldn't have been possible without all of your support and feedback. It truly makes my day whenever I hear from you guys, and spurs me on to keep writing.
> 
> I expected to have this chapter up sooner, but I had an unexpectedly busy week. Epilogue should drop early next week. It's a decently sized, self-contained chapter that'll try to wrap up any loose ends and give a glimpse of what happened after this chapter. If this chapter is the climax, the epilogue is the climb down from the high - soft, sweet, and will drift off with you into sleep and/or parts unknown. Does that make sense? Let's pretend it does.
> 
> I really hope I was able to meet your expectations after all the build up across a whooping 40 chapters and frickin' 300,000++ words. I'd love to know what you thought of the big finish! Not sure what else to say in this semi-final author's note, apart from thank you again. I'll catch you all at the next, and ultimately final update.


	42. After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Months later, Courtney and Shayne take a drive.

“We’re _loooooost_ ,” Courtney chimed in a singsong tone. She was smiling at Shayne from the passenger seat. Her body – wrapped up in thermal leggings, green flannel stolen from Shayne, and a coat – was turned to face him. She leaned her elbow by the cool glass of the car window. The trees were rolling by as they drove along the snowy dirt road. Any leaves the trees had to shed had long since fallen. The green pines were nearly invisible as thick snow had clumped up to conceal them. The picturesque winter landscape was a light blur out the window.

From the driver’s seat, Shayne rolled his eyes. He kept one hand on the wheel while the other reached for his thermos of coffee. With a small smile, he disagreed, “We’re not lost.”

“Babe, it was like, an hour ago when you said we’d be there by now.” Courtney bit her lip, “We could just check Google Maps and-”

“No,” Shayne shot her down before sipping from his thermos. He gestured to the plastic map splayed on the dashboard, “We’ll be there soon. I’m not losing your stupid bet and wearing that ridiculous robe.”

Courtney unashamedly eyed Shayne from his grey beanie to his cozy red flannel, and down to his fitting jeans and signature combat boots. Even though Shayne rocked the lumberjack look, she mused, “I dunno, boo. I think red velvet is gonna look good on you.”

Shayne set the thermos back down in the cupholder. He shook his head and flashed her a wink. “I think it’ll look better on you. The red will really bring out your… eyes.”

Courtney snorted loud enough to cause Max to bark from the backseat. He was buckled up and pressing his snout up against his window, which was rolled down by a few inches. He panted happily as he got snot all over the glass and took in the scenery. He wore a dark doggie coat to keep him comfortable amid Vermont’s bitter winter weather.

“What’s that, Max? You think daddy’s full of himself, don’t you?” Courtney turned in her seat to coo at Max.

Max grumbled and yipped in response.

Courtney ignored the sound Shayne made – a chuckle poorly disguised as a scoff – in favor of asking Max, “You think he should accept the fact we’re not getting there in half an hour?”

Max tilted his head to look at her better.

“You think his dumb plastic map won’t get us there in time and he should throw in the towel?” Courtney glanced at Shayne with a sly smile, “And put on his nice Christmas robe?”

Max barked and panted with glee.

“Hey,” Shayne sounded almost offended. He looked at Max through the rearview mirror as he protested, “What’s the deal, Max? I thought you were on my side!”

Max snorted.

Courtney fell into a fit of giggles as she sat back properly in the passenger seat. Shayne tightened his glare at her and put on his best Anakin Skywalker impression, “You turned him against me!”

With a bite of her lip, she stroked an imaginary goatee and deepened her voice, “You have done that yourself!”

“God, you make a terrible Obi-Wan.”

“Shut up!”

Before Shayne could crack out a retort, his smile grew into a wide grin. Courtney’s heart skipped a beat, because it only meant one thing. She craned her head forward to peer out the windshield.

They were coming around a bend in the road, and the trees gave way to a clearing. A small wooden gate marked the area as private property. Beyond, a humble, homey cabin of log and stone was nestled in the clearing. A few bare, spindly trees peppered the landscape by the cabin, while the rest of the forest formed an impenetrable shield to the rest of the world. The snow had been shoveled up by the groundskeeper to form a path, just as Alice had promised.

Shayne put the car into neutral and pulled the handbrake. With a smug smile, he cooed at her, “Who’s my loser? Hm? Who’s my _wittle_ loser?”

Courtney scrunched her face up in displeasure. “Ugh, you’re such an ass.”

“I’m your ass.” Shayne pecked her on the lips before she could respond. He popped his door open and approached the gate.

“Nice ass too…” Courtney muttered as she watched Shayne stop in front of the small gate. He kept his hands to the sides for balance on the icy path. The slippery roads had been troublesome the past few hours of their drive. Shayne had been bitter because it stacked the bet against him. He had to drive slowly and carefully on the frigid roads, and it set their time back. The afternoon may have still been fairly early, but they were losing daylight rapidly. It was already starting to get dark out. Lucky for him, he was a better navigator than Courtney thought. Unlucky for her, she was the one that had to put on a show now.

Which wasn’t the worst thing in the world.

Courtney bit her lip as Shayne’s muscular form was apparent even through his comfy flannel.

She enjoyed putting on a show for him from time to time.

The wooden gate swung open, and he motioned for her to bring the car in. Courtney tucked her legs up and began climbing into the driver’s seat. It wasn’t the first time she’d contorted to transfer seats in this car. They couldn’t keep their hands off each other. Courtney blamed him. It was his fault for being so hot.

Snow crunched underneath the tires as Courtney brought the car into the clearing. She parked just outside the cabin and killed the engine. It was then she took the time to really admire it.

The pictures Alice had shown them didn’t do it any justice. It was gorgeous.

The first floor sported roughly cut grey stone walls. A few windows were embedded into the rocky surface. To one side of the cabin, the stone towered up to form a chimney. The sturdy stone pedestals in front of the cabin supported hefty log pillars. These were the foundations of the wooden deck on the second floor. The reddish wood of the cabin’s log walls were interspersed with a few windows of varying sizes across the different sides of the structure. The gable roof had a prominent slope and was caked with a decent layer of snow.

Courtney’s boots plowed into the snow as she hopped out of the car. She smiled to herself at the sight of the hardy boots. They were Shayne’s birthday gift to her not long after the mess at the hotel. Shayne had pulled out all the stops for her. He’d arranged a surprise birthday party for her with a modest guest list.

Bradley Russo was apparently a charmer, and he had no problem convincing some of her coworkers to tag in along with Ian, Anthony, Keith, Noah, and Olivia. It was a little strange having them all in one room, with Shayne blending in like a chameleon. Ian and Anthony had taken some time to get over the mild fear of Shayne’s bloody reputation. But all it took was a few shots of tequila, and Ian and Anthony were already slinging an arm each over Shayne’s shoulders. They’d hung their heads back as they sang together – badly.

Similarly, there was some trepidation from Keith, Noah, and Olivia. The original plan had been to keep their distance in case Shayne’s cover would be blown. After the shitshow at the hotel, it seemed all the more important to stay away. In spite of it all, the trio had grown to genuinely care about Shayne. They didn’t publicly hang out or anything like that, but they didn’t hesitate to drop by for the occasional lunch or coffee with Shayne. There was safety in the knowledge that the worst had transpired, yet Shayne remained incognito. The Punisher was still a dead man, and Bradley Russo was just Courtney’s hipster boyfriend who studied Psychology.

Shayne pressed a quick kiss to her cheek as he arrived by her side. Courtney smiled and made her way to the back so she could start unloading their bags. Max’s tail happily thumped against the seat as Shayne worked on unbuckling him.

They were only staying the night, so they packed light. Courtney heaved both of their bags over each of her shoulders. Shayne stepped back, allowing Max to hop out of the car. His tongue flopped about as his bootie-covered paws dug into the snow. He took long, goofy strides as he acclimated to the new terrain. After a few more flailing steps, he dropped onto his back and began rolling.

Shayne huffed out a quiet laugh and left Max to his own devices. He paused in front of her, hand behind his back. Courtney didn’t like the shit-eating grin on his face. Her vision was then obscured. Shayne tugged the beanie she’d forgotten in the front seat down over her eyes.

“Hey!”

Ever the overenthusiastic gentleman, Shayne seized the bags she’d been carrying. Courtney pulled the beanie up into proper place to glare at him. She was greeted by his playful smile as he adjusted his grip on the bags. The beard may have helped keep him warm, but his cheeks were still flushed an adorable shade of pink from the chilly weather.

After the chaos at the hotel, Courtney had given him a haircut as requested, and he’d trimmed his beard. Now that the manhunt for the mysterious Punisher copycat had died down, it was safe to grow his hair and beard back out. It wasn’t as long and messy as it had been before. Now it was a sort of happy middle ground, closer to how Shayne had looked when he first came home to her on Valentine’s Day.

“I’ll bring these inside. You got the other stuff?”

On cue, Courtney grabbed the last bag from the trunk – full of groceries. And just because she felt the need to point it out, she tilted her head towards the bags he’d grabbed from her. “You know you don’t need to do that.”

Shayne shrugged and his smile said it all. “I wanted to.”

He was so sweet.

Courtney’s hand gripped a fistful of his shirt. With a tug, she pressed a quick kiss to Shayne’s lips. The dazed, dreamy look on his face was worth every damn bag he didn’t let her carry.

* * *

The cabin opened up into a small but spacious living room with a comfy looking sofa, situated across the fireplace. The dining area and kitchenette sat not far away. Polished granite adorned the counters, which were lined with appliances. A stove with an oven was situated in between the counters, along with a nearby refrigerator. The dining table was cut from beech, lending to the warm, natural look of the room.

Max attempted to push past them to explore the space but was stopped by Shayne. “Wait, bud – let’s get those shoes off so you don’t track snow everywhere.”

Courtney took that time to kick the snow off her own boots and hang her coat by the door. She was eager to explore the space some more. A set of wooden steps led to the upper floor. At the landing were a few doors, which Courtney got to investigating.

The first was a cramped bedroom with two bunk beds pressed together to form an L-shape. It was enough to give Courtney war flashbacks to her childhood. Back before she’d been given a room of her own, when she was still stuck with her sisters.

Behind the next door was a small bathroom with the bare basics – shower, toilet, sink, some storage space.

Courtney was about to be disappointed by the bathroom. Alice had given her a knowing wink and told her she’d enjoy it. But as Courtney opened the last door, she realized what Alice had meant.

To her immediate right was a far more lavish bathroom. Aside from the simple essentials, the cabin pampered them with heated tiles, a rainfall-type shower in one corner, and best of all – nestled in the other corner was a bathtub fit for two, situated by a small window. Courtney was giddy just looking at it.

In the master bedroom itself, there was a king-sized bed with no shortage of pillows and blankets. To tie it all together, Damien had apparently pulled the same shit he did earlier this year.

Shayne’s hand settled on her lower back to ease her into the room. “Hey Dora, how’s the explorin’ going?”

Courtney bit her bottom lip and stepped aside to give Shayne a view of the bed. His brows shot up incredulously and he let out a huff of air.

“God damnit, Damien.”

Yet again, red rose petals were arranged in the shape of a heart on top of the sheets.

This time, Shayne didn’t swat them off.

Instead, his eyes made a fond roll as he set his bag down. He looked like he had something to say, but then he noticed the open door to the bathroom. Courtney didn’t miss how Shayne set his sights on the tub.

Courtney approached Shayne’s side and wrapped her arms around his body. She nuzzled into the flannel on his shoulder, breathing in his smell. Courtney never could help herself around him.

Citrus, a hint of cologne, and the faint remnants of gun oil – because of course, both of them were still packing heat.

It was worlds away from the blood, smoke, grime, and gunpowder of months ago.

A part of her felt that the reason she took in his scent so often was to check – to make sure this was real. That this wasn’t a vivid dream from knocking her head on God knows what when Lewis breached the senator’s suite.

So far, her little litmus test had never failed. But Shayne smelled so nice, she didn’t mind repeating the test regularly.

Shayne’s arm snaked around her waist to pull her closer. His lips found their way to her forehead, his soft beard tickling her face. A sense of déjà vu hit her when he whispered in question against her skin, “Talk about romantic getaway, huh?”

When he pulled back enough to look at her, Courtney quirked a brow at him, “You gonna chickenshit your way out of it like last time?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Good boy, Mr. Russo.”

Shayne chuckled softly and released her. They set about unpacking the few belongings they brought with them. Shayne went downstairs first to get a head start on preparing for dinner. That, and because of their – or rather, _her_ – goddamn bet.

Courtney pulled out her unfortunate attire for the evening.

It was a long red robe made of velvet and lined with white fur. That wouldn’t have been too bad per se, but then there were the green Christmas trees stitched into the smooth fabric. And of course, the robe had a hood that tapered up to a fuzzy white ball.

Courtney grumbled under her breath as she peeled off her leggings and unbuttoned her flannel top. It was a good thing the cabin was so warm, almost unexpectedly so. The temperature would dip lower in the evening, but by then they’d have the fireplace going.

Once more, Courtney had worn her nice underwear since she enjoyed looking good for Shayne. Even if it didn’t stay on for awfully long around him. After Damien’s wedding night, and the time Shayne showed up on her fire escape bleeding half to death, Courtney was convinced this set was cursed. But as the months rolled by, it had redeemed itself.

With a sigh, Courtney draped the damn robe around her figure and tied it shut. She stepped into the bathroom to tug and prod at the fabric until it was remotely acceptable. It was a tough job, considering that the robe’s vibe was less Sexy Santa and more Beer Gut Stepdad.

Courtney pulled the upper part of the robe open by a smidge, revealing a hint of the black lace she wore underneath.

At least she could be Sexy Beer Gut Stepmom.

Since it wasn’t getting any better than that, Courtney made her way downstairs to the kitchenette. Max had tired himself out running around the cabin. Now he was rolling on the sofa and gnawing on that favorite ball of his.

Shayne had his back turned. He was sweeping a few loose strands of hair in place as he organized their groceries on the counter.

“Hey, babe.” Courtney called, “How do I look?”

Courtney leaned against the wooden post at the base of the stairs’ railing. The robe ruffled at the top, and she extended one of her long legs out from underneath the velvet. She had a hand on her hip and tilted her head to the side.

Shayne turned, looking like he had a dumb joke on the tip of his tongue. He froze for a moment. Courtney felt a chill run down her spine as he took in the sight of her. Those eyes had that hungry sheen in them that drove her mad. She could drop the robe and take him right then and there on the kitchen counter.

No, no – they had to prepare dinner. This wasn’t a lazy weekday night. They couldn’t just heat up some spicy chicken ramen and be done with it. This was their pre-holiday getaway.

With a gulp, Shayne appeared to get his bearings as well. Masking his allure, Shayne let out a poor imitation of a scoff. “Looks like the kind of thing Billy would wear on Christmas just to piss off Nicole.”

Courtney snorted out a laugh before joining him. She turned the lights on as she walked. Evening here came even sooner than it did back home. The lights filled the spacious living room and dining area with a homey, warm light.

They worked together in the kitchen with ease, born from their months of cohabitation. After the incident at the hotel, Shayne had been ready to throw away the security deposit for his apartment. He wanted to be with her and keep her close. Courtney felt similarly and luckily for her, her contract was due to expire soon.

Together, they found a nice two-bedroom apartment in Hell’s Kitchen – this way Courtney didn’t have to move far away from work. Their apartment was the warmest and homiest abode they could’ve asked for. Pictures of their friends and family adorned the walls. Shayne’s family pictures and memorabilia from the Marines were hung up in the second bedroom, which was converted into a den. Their desks, as well as Shayne’s Färlöv, were moved into the room. It made a great, quiet spot for either working or just kicking back and reading a book.

It was uncannily similar to the first time Shayne moved in with Courtney. The only thing substantially different was what went on behind closed doors. They fell into their routine with ease, as if they’d been doing this for years. A lot of things felt that way with Shayne. There wasn’t anything exceptionally difficult about him or living with him. They had earned that simplicity through everything they had endured to get to where they were now.

There was a fear that Courtney had harbored – that this honeymoon phase of theirs was going to end, and everything would crash and burn.

She still didn’t believe she had the good luck to live a happy, peaceful life with Shayne. If the winds of fate had decided Shayne didn’t need to flee the city, then surely they needed a tradeoff. There had to be something to balance out the good. It would come as a harsh slap in the face, probably in the form of Shayne falling out of love with her.

Yet it wasn’t the case. Courtney couldn’t really tell if the early honeymoon stage of their relationship was still ongoing, or if it had just evolved. They were still sweet with each other every chance they got. The banter flowed easily and to hilarious effect. They were clingy, which was something Courtney wasn’t used to, but didn’t shun away either. She’d never been the type to get exceedingly distracted at work because she was busy texting a boyfriend. But there she was, exchanging messages with Shayne while he was in between online classes.

They were like rabbits in heat, too – another thing Courtney hadn’t previously experienced, but _definitely_ welcomed. Yet even without the sex, this life with Shayne blew her socks off. The trust, the intimacy, the raw honesty of their emotions and relationship – it was more potent than anything she’d ever felt before. The love they shared transcended worldly bounds and conventions.

Courtney felt it in every damn love song on the radio, every cup of coffee he made her in the morning, every sultry whisper against her skin while tangled up in their bedsheets, and even every dumb argument over keeping a clean home – because even if they stepped on each other’s toes from time to time, there was nothing but love. They would work through their issues and make up before the day was over. Every night was spent in each other’s arms, and they accepted nothing less. The comfort and security it brought was something Courtney wouldn’t trade for the world.

By the time evening had rolled in, their festive meal was ready. Their pre-Christmas dinner consisted of a savory pork roast, a sweet potato casserole, and crepes with fruits and ice cream for dessert. Shayne also whipped up some hot buttered rum with an abundance of cinnamon and nutmeg – a traditional holiday beverage that was Nicole’s specialty.

Max was happily chowing down on his own dinner while Courtney and Shayne sat across one another at the table. The conversation flowed easily as it always did.

“Damien’s really got a way with words.” Courtney gestured idly with her fork as she spoke. “The first few chapters are really good. Not a whole lot of editing to be done so far in the first draft.”

Courtney was humbled to be Damien’s editor. It was immediately apparent to her how personal the book was to him. Far more than an autobiography or a war memoir, it was like a letter addressed to life and fate itself. It was his way of parsing through and dealing with the loss of his leg, and everything that it entailed. It was tragic, beautiful, and one of the most touching nonfiction pieces she’d ever read. Even if it was a first draft.

Shayne smiled around the rim of his mug. “Thanks again for helping him out with the book. And yeah, he’s uh – definitely got a colorful way of writing. His letters to me after he was discharged were full of that.”

“My favorite so far was when he wrote about his time on the carrier,” Courtney kept her words even and clear as the buttered rum was starting to dull her senses. “He said that the machine rooms sounded like whales giving birth to farming equipment.”

Shayne snorted into his mug and his face soon twisted with displeasure. He let out a hacking cough as the cinnamon assaulted his airways.

“Jeez.” Courtney grimaced. “You okay, dude?”

With puffy eyes and a hard wince, Shayne reached for his water and took a swig.

“Yeah,” Shayne cleared his throat, “Shit – that’s good.”

Courtney laughed freely at his expense once his coughing fit had ended. She ignored the dirty look Shayne shot her.

Their dinner carried on. The pork was tender, and the rub Shayne had used was expertly prepared. It was a perfect blend of sage, marjoram, and garlic. Courtney had been nervous about the casserole, but the recipe Kari had sent her pulled through with delectable results. The hot buttered rum, Shayne explained, was one of the things Nicole took with her when she moved to the city. It was apparently a favorite back in West Virginia. Courtney made sure to give a little thanks for the sweet and spicy concoction.

“You think Leak and Grossman might be moving too quickly?” Shayne tilted his head as he posed the question.

“Leak, Grossman, and Sui,” Courtney reminded him.

“Sorry – force of habit,” Shayne shook his head. Courtney didn’t blame him. It had only been a few months since Olivia passed the bar. Now, she was a full partner alongside Keith and Noah. Last night, on the 22nd, they had a little holiday party at the law firm’s office. It was there they broke the news that they intended to go professional.

Ever since _The People v Shayne Topp_ , Leak and Grossman had been swamped with new clients. It was made all the more difficult when Olivia took her leave of absence to finish her degree. After Olivia returned post-graduation, the workload was still heavy. Even with Kimmy assisting the three of them, the office wouldn’t stop bustling with activity. Now that the firm had officially evolved into Leak, Grossman, and Sui, they felt it was time to take the next step in their careers.

To take on the piling workload, they intended to hire a few more attorneys and paralegals. They set their sights on eager new counselors with little experience – that way, Leak, Grossman, and Sui could mold them and help them grow in the direction they wanted to take their firm.

“I think it’s a good thing they’re doing,” Courtney gave a nonchalant shrug as she took a forkful of potatoes. “They can still look out for the little guy while like, widening their horizons.”

Shayne pursed his lips and nodded, “Yeah… it’s not like they’re gonna start protecting career criminals and corporate shitbags anyway.”

“Maybe they’ll even represent The Punisher’s copycat if he ever gets caught.” Courtney’s playful wink was received with a cross between a scoff and a laugh.

“I hear that guy’s a real piece of work,” Shayne played along.

“I hear he’s not as cute as people think he is.”

“Hey!”

Courtney blew him a kiss from across the table, silencing his complaints. Shayne did his best to pout and huff it off, but she didn’t miss the uptick at the corner of his lip.

They eventually brought the dessert out, which Courtney had prepared. This was another small family favorite. The peaches, strawberries, and blueberries were topped off with a hefty serving of vanilla ice cream. Watching Shayne dig in was a delight.

Courtney found herself staring at Shayne from time to time. It was in those moments where it truly sunk in how real this all was. How Shayne was here and now in the present, and not just a lost memory she clung to while painfully alone in bed. Bradley Russo’s cover was solid, and there was no reason to believe it would be blown any time soon.

But like what Shayne had told her on multiple occasions before that day at the hotel – there were no guarantees in life. This tranquil existence of theirs could last a lifetime, or just a day longer. There was no way of knowing if something horrific was on the horizon, waiting to take it all away from them.

They only way to deal with the uncertainty was to plow right through it. Both of them were done hiding and cowering. If the worst would come and try to destroy what they had, then they would fight. Until that day came, if it ever did, they would enjoy the love that had grown between them and burrowed into their very souls. That uncertainty was part of what made the time they had together even sweeter. There were no words they kept from each other, no regrets to be had. They loved wholly and unconditionally.

She was so proud of Shayne, too. This month marked the end of his second term of university. Courtney had always found Shayne to be highly intelligent, but to see him apply himself made her unexplainably giddy. He was doing well in all his classes and his performance showed no signs of slowing down. If he kept this up, he’d be graduating with honors in a few years.

Shayne already knew what he wanted to do with his degree. He had shared his plans with Courtney after one of his rougher nightmares. His voice was deathly silent even in the privacy and sanctity of their bedroom, but she’d never forget that moment.

Lewis weighed heavily on Shayne’s conscience. The young man’s explosive demise tormented Shayne’s mind on his worst nights. Try as Courtney might to convince him otherwise, Shayne was convinced he’d failed Lewis, with little fault from anyone else. He never wanted to fail anyone like that again.

As soon as he got his license, he intended to help Damien’s gathering of veterans, which he still regularly attended. With his military background (fabricated or otherwise), the vets would be more open to speaking with him rather than some other civilian shrink. Shayne wanted to prevent anything remotely similar to another Lewis situation from occurring.

Shayne had also mentioned that the Marine Corps was in need of more licensed psychiatrists. He hoped to fulfill that demand someday and help the troubled Marines work through their demons and reacclimate to civilian life. He of all people knew the difficulty in returning to normalcy after a bloody, bloody war. It just so happened that the bloody war Shayne had to recover from was waged right here in his own country.

The scars that his harrowing war had left never completely faded away, physical or otherwise. Shayne was far calmer and less anxious than ever before. But Courtney never failed to notice his more discreet habits.

He focused not only on the road while driving, but on the streets – scanning for threats. Whenever he entered a room, his eyes would catalogue all the entry and exit points, creating tactical plans on the fly in case shit hit the fan. Loud noises didn’t trigger any violent reactions from Shayne. But Courtney would always catch his subtle winces and cringes, like he’d been expecting a wave of heat and a shower of shrapnel to follow.

Shayne was also as protective as ever. Courtney was never fond of that trait in her past relationships. With Shayne, she didn’t mind. On the contrary, she savored it. She knew where it was all coming from, and there was nobody in the world she trusted more to keep her safe. There was nothing but comfort in the hand he’d always have by her waist or the nape of her neck when walking through crowds.

“You’re ice cream’s melting.”

Courtney blinked the present back into focus – or rather, Shayne, who she’d been staring at as her thoughts fluttered around in her head. A glance at her plate confirmed that the ice cream was indeed melting. She dug into her dessert in earnest as Shayne hummed contemplatively.

“What’s on your mind, Court?”

_Oh, just reminiscing of how far we’ve come, how exciting and frightening the future is, y’know – normal festive Christmas stuff like that._

Courtney swallowed her mouthful of food and cleared her throat. Simply, she answered, “You.”

Shayne observed her with curious eyes, fiddling with the spoon in his hand. After a beat, he prompted her, “What about me?”

Courtney laid her free hand on the table, open for Shayne to hold. Getting the message, Shayne entwined their hands and squeezed gently. She gazed into those kind, thoughtful eyes and was hit with another surge of affection. There was nothing in this world that Courtney couldn’t tell him. After the past year’s dose of heartache and bloodshed alike, everything else paled in comparison. But at the same time, she didn’t need to get into the heavy thoughts that swirled around in her mind. It wasn’t a burden Shayne needed to bear at the moment.

She then shrugged as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, and answered, “I love you.”

Shayne let out a breath as if her answer had winded him. A smile found its way to his lips as his cheeks were flushed – whether because of her or the rum was up for debate.

“I love you too, Court.”

* * *

Courtney stepped into the master bathroom. Shayne was already positioned in the far corner of the bathtub, resting his arms along the sides. The shining glint of his wedding ring reflected the warm lights above. The scent of vanilla was hanging in the air, likely from the absurd amount of bubbles filling the tub. There was also the slightest chill in the air, and Courtney soon noticed this was because of the window being cracked open by barely an inch.

She had Shayne’s attention when she approached the tub with slow, deliberate steps. Courtney swayed her hips as she walked, only the slightest bit hesitant to do her part in the damn bet she’d lost.

“I was wondering when you’d show.” Shayne scrunched his face slightly to add, “A part of me was worried you packed your laptop and wanted to get more work done.”

“I’m not that much of a workaholic!” Courtney protested.

But Shayne had a point. Smosh had started to further expand and dig into the sketches and satire arm of their outlet. After everything Courtney had been through, some might think she would’ve sworn off appearing in front of a camera or a microphone again. On the contrary, Courtney was emboldened in a way – probably a side effect of Shayne’s protective, comforting aura. She was dusting off the rust of her acting skills and was also writing for their videos.

At the same time, Courtney’s passion for cracking open stories and publishing the truth burned as strongly as ever. She juggled her time between comedy and investigative journalism, two highly unlikely bedfellows. And through it all, Shayne was her partner, just like he was in everything else. His sharp wit helped her with her script writing, and he lent his imposing figure and keen eyes when poking into troublesome stories. Having Shayne tag along when meeting informants was always a sure way to ease her nerves and get the other party talking.

As Courtney had silently promised Nicole and Lizzy, she never bit off more than she could chew. If something were liable to draw heat, she’d pass it over to The New York Bulletin and leave the investigation to them. It earned them some good will with the paper, and they’d started sharing some sources as a result. Sometimes, it was a pain to pass up on the opportunity of netting Smosh the exclusive. But Courtney never pushed it. Shayne’s health, wellbeing, and concealed identity were leagues more important.

All in all, she was a busier bee than ever. Most nights they spent in the den – Shayne studying or doing coursework, and Courtney writing. Shayne often had to drag Courtney off her laptop and into bed to get her to stop. Even Ian and Anthony occasionally suggested that she just stick to one field or the other. Doing both was taxing. But doing both was also what brought Courtney joy in her professional life. She knew she’d manage just fine.

But going back – no, Courtney certainly did _not_ pack her laptop on her romantic pre-holiday getaway with Shayne. Even she had boundaries.

Courtney allowed the fuzzy robe to sink down past her shoulders, bunching up by her elbows.

Those boundaries no longer included the physical, though.

Shayne was done wisecracking once he got an eyeful of her. There was nothing that boosted her confidence more than the _awe_ with which Shayne gazed at her. Courtney knew she looked good. But the way Shayne looked at her was something else entirely, as if there was some halo of light above her head that only he could see.

It emboldened Courtney to saunter forward, never taking her eyes off of him. Shayne was just as attentive, his hungry eyes taking her in from head to toe. Courtney dropped the robe to the floor. As expected, the wonderment on Shayne’s features intensified. Apparently, it didn’t matter if he’d seen her more naked than the day she was born on so many occasions. He was just as blown away each time.

Courtney swayed her hips along to an unheard rhythm. Her finger ran along the strap of her bra – his eyes followed the movement like an attentive hawk.

Then, as if waking from a dream, Shayne blinked back the stars in his eyes. He gave Courtney a funny look and told her, “You don’t have to put on a _show_ for me, Court. That was your dumb bet, not mine.”

Of all the things she expected him to say, that wasn’t one of them. Shayne was usually more than happy to sit back and watch her. But just the same, that bubbly tub was looking more and more enticing.

“You sure?”

“Yeah,” Shayne waved her over. “C’mere.”

If he was sure, then he was sure.

Courtney obliged and discarded her underwear with little show or ceremony. Across from Shayne, she slipped into the spacious bathtub. The warm water instantaneously sapped all the tension from her muscles. She let out a long sigh as she sunk down all the way to her neck, nudging Shayne’s legs in the process. Shayne smiled and bobbed up to adjust his legs, which comfortably brushed against her own. As she got an eyeful of Shayne’s broad chest, the fading bruise by his upper ribs came into sight.

Shayne was done punishing. Those days were behind them. But he never got rid of the plate-carrier vest, and Courtney would never ask him to. There was no denying how much it could come in handy if worse came to worst. Instead, the white skull had been painted over to bury The Punisher’s icon once and for all. Even if Shayne had not worn the vest since the hotel, nor intended to strap it on with the intention of punishing.

In the den, Shayne’s armory of rifles, shotguns, pistols, and explosives (and the drug money) were all locked up and secure – untouched for months. Throughout the entire apartment, knives and guns alike were stashed in several key locations that either of them could access at any given time. Together, they had meticulously laid their furniture out to turn their home into a fortress with multiple lines of defense for falling back. It was impossible for any outsider to determine that at a glance.

All of that being said, Shayne still didn’t hold back from occasionally getting his hands dirty. The keyword here was _dirty_ and not _bloody_. Across the six or so months that they had been shacking up, Shayne had been in about three physical altercations. They all happened during times that they’d been apart for whatever reason, be it work or social. Shayne would be minding his own business – maybe going to the bodega down the street to pick up a six pack of beer, or to the gym so he could clock in an evening workout. Then he’d overhear a nearby scuffle and jump to the aid of whoever needed it.

The first two times were muggings. The third was an assault. In all three fights, bodies dropped broken and concussed, but never dead. Shayne never pulled a weapon or fought with lethal intent. Once the aggressor was neutralized, he sat with the victim and called none other than Matt Raub himself. A begrudging professional relationship was starting to grow between the two men. Bradley Russo’s name popped up in police reports as a Good Samaritan, but nothing more. As long as Shayne didn’t put anyone in the ground or actively seek out shitbags to fight, Matt wouldn’t give him a hard time for his _Vigilantism Lite_ , as he called it.

It was clear that Shayne never went looking for these fights. He didn’t need to reassure her half as much as he did – Shayne may as well have gotten on his knees as he begged Courtney to believe him. It wasn’t necessary. This peaceful life was important to Shayne, and he didn’t want to jeopardize it. Whenever things couldn’t be solved by himself, he phoned Matt up and gave him the rundown. Since Matt was a detective now, he often had to dispatch his trusted officers to handle things – Fisher, Pearson, Bunch, Martin, and other survivors of the Cartel’s attack.

The light bruise on Shayne’s ribs was from a lucky right hook, which was immediately repaid with an elbow to the jaw. Courtney wasn’t exactly happy with _Vigilantism Lite_ , but she knew Shayne couldn’t help it. If someone was getting hurt, Shayne had too big and too gold of a heart to stand by and do nothing. As long as he didn’t show up bleeding half to death on the fire escape, Courtney wouldn’t give him shit for it.

Shayne didn’t miss the staring she was accidentally doing. Rather than hiding the bruise, he straightened his back and shifted his legs to make room. With a smile, he beckoned her closer.

Courtney frowned for just a beat. There was no mischief or playfulness in his smile. Instead, there was an almost nervous energy he was suppressing – his trigger finger no longer tapped, choosing instead to tremble as it resisted the urge to do so.

Whatever was making him uneasy, Courtney set out to correct it. The bubbles swished about as she got closer. The damp skin of her shoulders, arms, and chest all prickled with goosebumps in the cool air. She stopped in front of Shayne, up on her knees and hovering inches taller than him.

Courtney took Shayne’s bearded face in her bubbly hands, thumbs caressing his cheeks. Her eyes fluttered shut as she leaned in to kiss him.

Cinnamon, nutmeg, and rum were still palpable on Shayne’s velvety lips. He must have tasted the same, because he was soon smiling into the kiss. They took their time, allowing their lips to explore each other’s as they had done so many times before. They lingered each time they parted, fanning one another’s faces with gentle breaths and contented sighs. Then back they went, their lips impossibly tender in each stroke they brushed together.

His hands glided up and down her back in long, soothing strokes that were as alluring as the first thousand times he’d done this. Courtney never grew tired of the kissing nor the love making. Each time was as wonderful and exciting as the first. Shayne made her feel like the most special woman in the goddamn world. Whether with a warm whisper in her ear, his lips to her skin, or his hands roaming her body, Shayne didn’t fail to convey his message.

She could lose herself to his touch – whether his strong hands on her back, or his smooth lips on her own. Courtney could drown herself in him. She wanted to feel him everywhere until her entire world was Shayne goddamn Topp and nothing else. The world itself could slip into oblivion while she was wrapped up in Shayne, and she would never have noticed.

Shayne gently pulled away first. His light blue eyes looked her over. That signature awe still shined in his eyes. Courtney was tempted to just press her mouth back to his. She felt like a broken record thinking about it but, _fuck_ – Shayne was too damn handsome for his own good. His lips, the slightest bit swollen from locking with her own, were the most enticing thing imaginable.

Before Courtney could give into her baser desires, Shayne melted her heart like he did every time the words came out. “I love you.”

Courtney smiled and pressed a kiss to his forehead – next to the nearly invisible scar where he’d taken a round to the head almost two years ago. “I love you too.”

“Sit with me?”

An invitation like that could never be passed down. Anybody in their right mind would accept this most esteemed privilege.

The bubbly water made small waves as Courtney turned around. She sat down and parked herself flushed against Shayne’s chest. The guy made the comfiest damn backrest imaginable. There was the noticeable absence of Shayne’s strong arms wrapping around her. Courtney began to move so she could correct that, but Shayne spoke up first.

“Don’t be mad at me.”

Courtney’s brows pitched into a frown. “What? Why would I be mad?”

There was a pause in which Shayne undoubtedly gathered his guts. “I got you something.”

“Damnit, Shayne!” Courtney craned her neck to glare at him. He avoided her prickly gaze by burying his face into her hair. “We agreed not to give presents until tomorrow for Christmas Eve – y’know, with Damien and Alice? Like we planned?”

When Shayne’s silence lingered for a moment longer, she added, “Or on Christmas Day in Utah – again, like we planned.”

For better or for worse, Courtney was taking Bradley Russo home to meet the family. What they had between them was obviously serious and meant to last, so Courtney _had_ to take Shayne home. The need to do this was made all the more apparent when Kami and the rest of her siblings caught wind of her relationship. For obvious reasons, Bradley Russo kept a tightly knit circle, and a lowkey social media presence.

What Courtney _did_ discover was that Shayne liked to take pictures of her – something she later learned he did to Nicole, once upon a time. Apparently, Shayne had tagged Courtney in one too many photos on the ‘gram, in which she’d been gazing lovingly at her food in one restaurant or another. That was how the Miller clan found out about her mystery boyfriend.

There was no telling if they’d recognize Shayne behind the beard and the thick mane of hair. If they didn’t, then all would be well. If they did, well – her family’s reactions would pale in comparison to the life or death trials they’d been forced to endure. Nobody would report Shayne’s identity to the authorities, at least. They knew how much Shayne had come to mean to her throughout the duration of the trial. His identity was safe.

In spite of her berating, Shayne had the audacity to tickle her neck with his warm chuckle. That same laugh she loved so much which rumbled from deep within his chest. Just like that, Courtney’s brief frustration had been tempered.

She wasn’t mad. Not really, anyway. The only thing that upset her was that she didn’t have anything to give him at the moment. Nothing tangible or rated PG, anyway.

“Close your eyes.” Shayne’s request normally would’ve been shut down. Courtney ordinarily would’ve been too eager to see what he had in store. But then his lips were kissing her neck in the exact spot she liked, and she was already melting like putty in his hands.

Her neck twitched at the ticklish sensation. The giggle that escaped her lips was almost embarrassing, if she were still capable of really getting embarrassed in front of Shayne.

“Okay, okay,” Courtney complied, “I’m closing them.”

There was the shuffle of movement behind her and Shayne’s chest pressing into her back – likely the byproducts of reaching over to wherever so he could retrieve his gift. Shayne’s left hand settled on her upper arm. His fingertips danced across her skin in an almost skittish manner, speaking volumes of the nerves he was contending with.

After a brief pause, he whispered, “You can look now.”

In Shayne’s other hand in front of her was a hand towel. Atop the towel was a small black box.

Courtney’s heart could have flatlined in that moment.

It was a jewelry box. That was unmistakable. But holy shit – no, there was no way this was what she thought it was. It couldn’t be. It was too soon.

Well, to be fair – they’d talked about it a few times, citing the same things Courtney did long ago back in his old house. Spousal privilege to avoid testifying against each other was the main benefit apart from the whole… regular marriage stuff that normal people think about when getting married.

Yet even when the topic came up, it was a faraway thing in the future. Not six-ish months into their actual relationship. Not after knowing each other for barely over a year.

Then again, there was that one time they knocked back one too many beers together, and somehow ended up discussing kids’ names. David William was the one they liked the most for a boy. They were stumped for a girl’s name, and obviously naming a child after Shayne’s late wife and daughter was far too on the nose to be even thought of. The former felt more apt, since the two men weren’t exactly blood-related family, but played their own large parts in protecting him. Shayne wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for Billy’s actions in the mountains or Bell’s in Rikers.

But _again_ , those were drunken musings and ramblings. While marriage wasn’t _too_ far-fetched, having children was more questionable after all the pain Shayne had gone through.

And _Jesus H. Christ_ , Shayne was just proposing – he wasn’t asking her to have his children. She was getting far ahead of herself in this mental meltdown. She had to take this one step at a time –

“Wait – shit,” Shayne cursed, “I just realized how this looks. It’s not a ring – I mean, t-this isn’t – y’know. I’m not… not yet, I mean. I – fuck, Court, just open the thing.”

Courtney let out the breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding.

Even through the relief, Courtney had no doubts about Shayne or his love for her, or their relationship as a whole. After everything they’d been through, nothing could shake them. The only thing that had truly given her pause was the time. Their relationship’s origins were as unconventional as could be, but that didn’t mean they had to rush things. Courtney could tell Shayne felt the same. He wanted to enjoy this and all the time they had together. Putting a ring on her wasn’t really a priority in this stage. It could wait.

Just the same, Courtney felt the need to reassure him – to dispel any notion that her sigh of relief had been because she didn’t want to become Courtney Ruth Miller-Russo.

“Hey,” Courtney twisted to look Shayne in the eye. “I would’ve said yes.”

Shayne let out a soft, somewhat surprised laugh. He wore a beautiful, earnest smile on his face. He ducked his head to avoid her gaze. All the bravado and confidence were gone, replaced by a boyish shyness. His head came to gently rest against her own as he muttered, “Open it, Court.”

Courtney spared Shayne her adoring gaze, lest he melt and join the bubbles in the water. She dried her hands on the towel before picking the small box up. Shayne set the towel to the side and then it was his turn to hold his breath. Courtney popped the top of the box open.

It was…

Courtney wasn’t actually sure what it was.

It was a simple chain necklace, upon which hung the mystery item. The rose-gold shine was impeccable – enough to see her reflection in it. The metal was shaped into a thick and sturdy disc, no more than half an inch in diameter. It was rough and irregular around the edges and along the surface, but smooth to the touch to avoid scratching.

“Shayne, it’s beautiful…”

It truly was. The butterflies madly flapping around Courtney’s stomach were telling her as much. The warmth was blossoming and spreading throughout her body in that way only Shayne could make it.

But she still had to ask, “What is it?”

The box was set aside as Courtney held the necklace up to admire it. Shayne’s hands came from around her to gently take it. The cool metal pressed against her collarbone as Shayne secured it around her neck.

There was an unplaceable excitement that bubbled up within her – at the prospect of wearing jewelry that Shayne had given her. This was the first time he’d gotten her anything like this, after all. Courtney didn’t consider herself fancy or classy by any means. She was more into bracelets and simple earrings than authentic metals and precious stones. But the lovely piece of whatever-this-is would fit in nicely with any ensemble she put together.

After locking the clasp in place, Shayne’s arms wrapped around her midsection. With a clearing of his throat, he asked, “Remember when we first met?”

“You chased me around Metro-General with a shotgun, so I plugged you in the chest,” Courtney stated in a matter-of-factly tone. “I was kind of hoping that would teach you not to be an asshole, but that didn’t work. At least you don’t shoot at me anymore.”

“ _Ha ha_. Very funny, Courtney.” She could almost feel Shayne’s eyeroll from where she sat. And without missing a beat (probably to avoid giving his nerves time to set in), he told her, “That’s the bullet you shot me with.”

Courtney blinked.

She looked back down at the odd metallic disc. True enough, it resembled a bullet that had flattened against a hardy ballistic plate. But it was clearly plated or molded, hence the rosy tint and fine finish.

“I had it cleaned up at a jeweler and everything.” Shayne’s voice was in her ear, timid – as if worried she didn’t like it.

“I love it. Thank you, Shayne.”

It was such an odd yet deeply personal and remarkably beautiful gift. She fiddled with the bullet while her other settled on Shayne’s solid hands around her midsection.

“You’re welcome, babe.” His warm breath tickled her neck.

Yet she had to ask, “How on earth did you get this?”

“Matt snuck it out of the archives. After I brushed the slug off my vest, it was tagged as evidence for the hospital shooting.”

It was strange hearing Matt’s first name out of Shayne’s lips. It had always been _Raub_ or _The Detective_. Apparently, Shayne’s _Vigilantism Lite_ had gotten them well acquainted.

“How’d you convince your BFF to do that?”

Shayne snorted at the term, but answered with an air of nonchalance, “I may have slipped him some info I got from the Russians in the docks earlier this year. Couple of hideouts the Italians – Gnucci Crime Family – are using.”

Courtney shook her head in disbelief. With a glance down at the reddish gleam of her new necklace, she couldn’t argue with the results. She was going to wear this thing everywhere.

Shayne spoke up again, more hesitantly this time. His voice was heavy with solemnity as his fingers idly stroked her skin beneath the water, “I don’t think I’ve ever told you this. Then again, I’ve been shot in the head twice – once in the brain – so maybe my memory isn’t that reliable.”

Courtney pressed her back snug against his broad frame and listened intently. This was serious, despite the nonchalant self-depreciating joke about his poor head. She placed her hands over his and admired the shining metal of her necklace.

“That night was probably one of the lowest points of those days. There were so many ways I could’ve tried to take out Grotto, but I was so tired. I didn’t want to go through the elaborate planning – not again, y’know?”

Shayne relied on the shock and awe of his imposing presence and thundering shotgun to get the job done. The path he shot up in the hospital was a deliberate choice of psychological warfare. It had worked too – Courtney was scared shitless of him that night. She thought he was Death himself in human form. It took unearthing his past and meeting him face to face to overcome that terror.

“A part of me didn’t care if some of my recon and intel were off. If some cop or security guard killed me in that hospital, well – that’s that. It was a risk I was willing to take. Those days, I didn’t care about the risks. I didn’t weigh them anymore.” There was a heavy pause as Shayne’s breath fanned the nape of her neck. “I didn’t care if I lived or died anymore.”

“Then,” The smile could be heard in Shayne’s voice, “You came into my life with your .380 blasting at me before I could even aim at you.”

“Hey, it was self-defense,” Courtney protested.

“ _Hashtag Courtney Shot First_.”

“Joke’s on you, I love Han Solo. That makes you Greedo, you frickin’ nerd.”

“ _Anyway_ ,” Shayne squeezed at her tummy, causing her to squirm and quiet back down. “Everything changed after that night. I felt so guilty for putting you and Olivia through that – you most of all since I disarmed you and saw your face up close.”

The memories from that night were strange to Courtney. After everything that had transpired between then and today, they felt foreign to her. It was like looking back through someone else’s eyes. Or at least, looking at the memories with someone else’s emotions. Courtney could easily replay the moments in her mind, but they no longer held the weight and dread they once did. She could remember how her heart stopped when Shayne took her gun. The way her pulse pounded wildly as the gunfight drew on. The sheer terror of being faced with her mortality – those weren’t easy to forget per se.

But their connection to Shayne in that night? Gone.

Remember them as she might, Courtney couldn’t tie those intense feelings to him. It was simply all in the past.

“You’ve already apologized for that, babe,” Courtney reminded him. “I was never in any danger. I took your word for it back then, and I still do.”

Shayne was silent for a while as he contemplated and drew thoughtful strokes against her skin with his fingertips. His breath was still warm as he spoke into her hair, “Nothing’s been the same since you came into my life, Court. After I was arrested, you convinced Keith, Noah, and Olivia to take me on. Then there you were,” He gave an airy chuckle, “Stepping over the red tape and shoving my family’s picture in my face.”

Courtney had forgotten all about the red tape if she were being honest. The fact she disregarded it from night one probably had something to do with it. “No tape’s gonna hold me back, man.”

“Don’t I know it,” Shayne muttered before speaking up, “Up until that night, I’d never said their names out loud. Nicole, Lizzy – those words hadn’t left my mouth since the park. I didn’t deserve to say those names, y’know? Not after… not after everything I’d done.”

“Hey…” Courtney held onto Shayne’s hands. She let the rest of the gentle reprimand hang in the air. Shayne had largely grown past all the internalized blame and self-loathing. He only needed a soft nudge here and there to prevent him from brooding.

“You got me to talk about them. For the first time in _months_. Not even Damien and Alice could get me to do that.” There was that sense of wonder in his tone as he spoke. “Lizzy’s Cookies and Cream ice cream, Nicole and how protective she is over the kitchen equipment – shit, Court. You got me blabbing about that within an hour of talking to me.”

“It’s almost supernatural,” Shayne huffed softly, “You’re just so… calming. It’s embarrassing to talk about, but you’re the main reason I survived in Rikers without losing my mind.”

Courtney blinked at that. She continued to rub his hands beneath the water as she prompted him, “How’d I do that? The visits?”

“It was more than the visits. Things got bad at night.” Shayne’s grip around her tightened. Her own hands squeezed back. “Nothing lonelier than my goddamn cell. Nothing but the sound of leaky pipes and the smell of mold to fall asleep to. If you thought my dreams were bad during the first month we moved in together,” He blew out a sharp exhale, “I woke up every night thrashing and panicking because I couldn’t tell which way was up and why I wasn’t in the park to save my family.”

“Oh baby,” Courtney whispered. She entwined her hand with one of Shayne’s. She brought it up to press a soft kiss to the back of his hand.

“Before I went to sleep at night, I started to think about you. Wondered what it was like to make you coffee in the morning. Maybe take you out to eat during your lunch break. Or to kick back on your sofa with a beer after you got home from work.” The clenching of Shayne’s jaw was almost audible as he struggled to get the words out. “Or sleep next to you in bed. That was enough to stop the nightmares.”

There was nothing at all embarrassing about the admission. Shayne had done the same thing Courtney had done to repel her own nightmares after the mess in Rikers.

After a heavy silence, Shayne added so quietly that she nearly missed it, “It was always you.”

Courtney had to swallow the rising emotions down her throat. “What was always me?”

“Home. Ever since you shot me in the chest one night and saw the worst parts of me. Then two nights later you’re shoving that picture in my face and looking at me like I’m just a guy. You were the closest thing I had to a home back then.” Shayne pressed a tentative kiss to the back of her head as her emotions swirled within her.

“That’s why I got you the necklace. Something to remember the day we met during the lowest point of my life. When you came in, picked up the pieces, set me straight and put me back, right side up. And everything started making sense again, day by day. I…” The words hung in the air as Shayne paused to take a deep breath, “After I lost Nicole and Liz, it was all over. I was done. But you, Court? Shit,” He let out a soft chuckle, “I want you to know that I’m with you.”

Courtney leaned back and craned her neck to place a kiss to his cheek. “I know that.”

“I mean it, Court. I’m not going anywhere,” Shayne’s twinkling eyes would’ve made her knees weak if she were standing. “ _You and me_ – I’m never going to take this for granted.”

Once more, Shayne had that uncanny ability to make her, Courtney Miller – intrepid reporter and successful journalist – speechless. She gently pried his hands free from her own so she could turn and face him properly. The tub was rocked with gentle waves as she got into place. Courtney set her hands on his shoulders, thumbs brushing against his skin and the chain of his ring’s necklace. Her left hand trailed up his neck, over his beard, and into his messy locks of hair. Courtney ghosted her fingers over the scar on his temple – of the physical, tangible proof of his love for her, etched into his skin.

There was no telling what the future had in store. Shayne had once said there were no guarantees in this life. That was partially true.

They were one bad day away from a total stranger recognizing Shayne beneath Bradley Russo’s identity. Or a disgruntled mobster drawing a connection back to Shayne. Or one of Shayne’s old prison enemy’s being released and wreaking havoc. There was simply no way of knowing if this life they’d fought for would last.

But Shayne’s sentiment was also partially false. There were some guarantees.

Such as the fact that Shayne was done running and would sooner take a bullet than leave her. They had the support of the best defense attorneys in the state. The majority of an entire police precinct was passively covering up his identity. Smosh would go up in flames before revealing Shayne’s survival. Damien and Alice would offer both refuge and medical help if things came down to a bloody mess.

While the world sometimes felt like it conspired against them to keep them apart – with every backstabbing colonel and PTSD-fueled veteran – one certainty was that they weren’t in this alone. They had their friends and colleagues.

And most importantly, they had each other.

Courtney leaned forward to press her lips against Shayne’s. No words could convey all the trust and love she had for him. He was well aware of the pain he’d caused her by pushing her away to fight his war. Shayne was going through the lengths of these explanations because he wanted it to be abundantly clear – it wouldn’t happen again. But Shayne’s actions carried far more weight than the words ever would. He didn’t really need to tell her all of this. She already knew it.

With every brush of their lips and whisper to her skin. With every gentle sigh and breathy chuckle. With every lingering embrace and entwined pair of hands.

Courtney knew it.

She pressed her body forward, eliciting a surprised but delighted grumble from Shayne. His arms wrapped around Courtney’s waist to pull her even closer. The soft touches and gentle kisses didn’t take long to grow heated. It was quite unlike the development of their relationship, which had slowly built up over the months until finally culminating in the aftermath of the hotel. Their love burned brighter than any flare, and twice as hot.

It was a long and painful road to where they were now. It wasn’t easy – on the contrary, it was downright terrifying at times as they risked life and limb for each other. But Courtney would go through it all again if she had to, no questions asked. Shayne was worth it. _This_ was worth it.

Because against all odds, they’d done it.

Together, they found _after_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I lied, this epilogue did not come "early in the week" because I got hit with a massive writer's block, because holy shit, we're at the end!
> 
> A big, big, heartfelt thank you to you, my dear readers! Every comment and kudos has been incredibly motivating in ways that I cannot begin to describe. I've said it before, but I really have to say it again: this story wouldn't have been possible without all your support. They have been the fuel that has driven me along these long months. There's no way I can fully explain my gratitude, apart from just doing my damn best to give you guys the best story possible. I truly hope you have all enjoyed joining me on this journey as much I have writing it.
> 
> And yes, I did have Shayne pull a Lucifer there with the bullet necklace, don't @ me
> 
> I'm not sure yet what the future of my Smosh writing has in store. If something comes up, I'll definitely pull the thread and see what I can write. For now, I'm taking a step back to rest and get back into some of the other hobbies I've been putting off. I've got a little art project that's coming up. I wanted to finish it in time for this epilogue, but that didn't happen. If you wanna see it, I'll be uploading it to my Wattpad at SylvesterM1, and I'll probably update this note to include the link. It's just a little thing to commemorate the end of this story, in a couple weeks' time.
> 
> I think that's it for now. Not sure what else to say here, other than thank you again. Drop me a final message in the comments, tell me how you liked the epilogue! Also plugging Anon's fanart again as part of this last hurrah, because it's the best thing ever: https://imgur.com/a/qgx80qL
> 
> I'll catch you guys in the next story, whenever that may be. Love you all. Have a great day now.


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